-3-

I don’t think there was one dramatic moment where everything suddenly became clear.

It was quieter than that.

It happened late at night.

On the nights when my thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, when the weight in my chest felt unbearable, when staying felt harder than leaving. I would sit there, shaking, headphones on, heart pounding—and I realized something terrifying and comforting at the same time:

Stray Kids were the reason I stayed.

Literally.

There were nights I told myself, “Just one more song.”

“Just one more video.”

“Just make it until morning.”

And somehow, I did.

Bang Chan was there first.

In the way only someone who carries the weight of everyone else can be. He felt like a hug I never got in real life. The kind of comfort that doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t judge, just wraps around you and says, “You’re safe for a moment.”

I saw how tired he was.

How he stayed up through endless nights.

How he kept showing up for everyone else, even when he was clearly hurting.

And it made me feel less guilty for being tired too.

If someone like him could keep going while feeling so much, maybe I could too.

Changbin was there when I hated my body.

When I felt like I took up too much space.

When I thought being skinny was the only way to be worthy.

When I felt like I was never what anyone wanted—and always someone’s last choice.

Through him, I learned that strength doesn’t come from shrinking yourself.

That it’s okay to exist loudly.

That worth is not measured by size, approval, or being chosen first.

Hyunjin made sure I was seen.

Not perfect—seen.

He reminded me that beauty doesn’t come from flawlessness. That passion, mistakes, emotions—all of it—are part of being human. I didn’t have to polish myself into something acceptable. I could be unfinished. I could be learning.

Han understood my anxiety in a way that felt painfully accurate.

He showed me that it’s okay to not be okay.

That fear doesn’t make you weak.

That sometimes comfort comes when you stop pretending you don’t need it.

He made me feel less ashamed of my panic, my overthinking, my spirals. Like maybe my brain wasn’t broken—just sensitive.

Felix broke my heart open.

Seeing his fear of gaining weight.

Seeing how he didn’t eat.

Seeing how he smiled and said “It’s okay” even when it clearly wasn’t.

It reminded me how often I did the same thing.

How often I said I was fine when I wasn’t.

And it taught me that kindness shouldn’t start with everyone else and end before it reaches me.