Time in the jungle, collapse, and the quiet loss of identity
For years, I functioned. I was everywhere—just not with myself. I defined myself through my role as a social worker. The one who always has time, always shows up for others. Time for me didn’t exist. And when it did, it felt wrong. Being alone and being in stillness wasn’t soothing. It felt threatening. Then a time came when everything became quiet. And I had no control over it. During the pandemic, I lost my job as a social worker. I moved into the jungle. Far away from the noise of the city. No internet. No pressure. No functioning. What first felt like freedom was, in truth, my personal collapse.
When stillness isn’t romantic
Stillness is often romanticized— as a place of clarity, as a spiritual experience. But real stillness isn’t gentle. It’s honest. Without distraction, thoughts become visible that were ignored for a long time:
- Fear
- Emptiness
- Pain
- Exhaustion
A relationship that pulled me away from myself
There was a relationship in my life that cost me something essential: my identity. I became quieter. More adapted. More insecure. I started questioning myself because I lost contact with who I was. Before I moved into the jungle, I believed I had left that relationship behind. I thought time would heal everything. But the trauma came with me. Only in stillness—without distraction— the past caught up with me completely.
How identity disappears quietly
Identity rarely disappears all at once. It fades. When you stop trusting your inner “no.” When you adapt in order to stay. When one day you no longer know what you actually want. The collapse didn’t come suddenly. I had simply ignored myself for too long.
The jungle as a mirror
Alone in the jungle, there was nothing I could hold on to. No roles. No expectations. No relationships that defined me. Just stillness. Too much time. And every voice in my head. At first, the chaos felt like a crash. I saw the world in black and white. I felt like a victim of my past. I often lost sight of a way out. What began as freedom became my inner prison. And right there, something decisive began: For the first time, I listened to myself honestly. No distraction. No avoiding.
What I learned when everything became still
I wasn’t lost. I was busy distracting myself. I learned you can’t outrun your past— otherwise it will control you. I learned that light doesn’t exist without shadow. And that healing isn’t found in pushing things away, but in acknowledging them.
Coming back to myself wasn’t romantic
My path didn’t begin with an awakening. It began with small decisions:
- to pause
- to stop explaining
- to take myself seriously
- to stay when it gets uncomfortable
Reconnection isn’t a straight line. It happens in the in-between.
Why I’m sharing this story
Because many people believe they have to become louder, stronger, or better. But often it’s about this: stopping the slow loss of yourself. Stillness isn’t retreat. It’s a mirror. And right there— when nothing holds you except yourself— a new beginning often starts.
When everything became still, I met myself. Not as a healed version. But as a real one. And that was the beginning. My new beginning.
The stillness in the jungle showed me a lot. But it didn’t “take anything away” for me. What came after wasn’t an answer. It was time. Time for what I lived through to settle. Time where nothing could be rushed. That’s where a different understanding began: Why consciousness needs time.