16/09/2025 - Even if it means being less loved.

Everything feels so intense these days, like my moods swing with the sun. Yesterday I felt unstoppable, like I could conquer the world; today I’m back at the bottom, body aching, energy gone. All I crave is comfort: a hot bath, a massage, food that feels abundant, to feel pretty again, maybe even to be held and made love to. I long for a cocoon, and right now I’m so far from it that it scares me. I’ve pushed myself outside of every comfort zone, and it’s rare I wander this far for so long. Still, I made this choice, and I’m committed. I’ll hold, no matter what.

And yet, if I’m honest, part of me doesn’t want to be here. Not here, not anywhere, it wouldn’t matter. Sometimes I feel like I’m crumbling under the very life I chose, asking myself why I decided to take everything on at once. I know I can be dramatic, but the moment I start writing, reality catches me by the shoulders. Words have that power. They strip the chaos from emotions, take the tornado spinning inside me and set me back down into the present, where I realize: I am safe.

And this morning, things actually began well. I woke at 6:30, tired but without pain, a blessing on a day with 20 km ahead. After what my toes went through, I know better than to take that for granted. I packed up, walked to the café the host told me about, and found it already filled with pilgrims and steaming cups. I ordered my habitual latte and pain au chocolat, sitting there knowing my fire wasn’t as strong as yesterday’s. Softer, more subdued, nine days of nonstop walking settling into my bones.

Nancy and Christelle, two French women, sat nearby, and soon Ismael, a Spanish pilgrim, joined them. We chatted lightly, then I set off, calling my dad as I often do now, sharing my night, my mood, everything in between. I paused to watch the sunrise and by then saw the group catching up. We walked together until Nancy slowed, tendinitis forcing her pace down. I wished I had the emotional space to support her, but I didn’t today, so I went on alone, until Ismael appeared at my side.

He spoke no English, no French, only Spanish. And somehow, we walked two hours like that, me, in Spanish, understanding, stumbling, finding words, talking about travel and self-love and the world. I’d always dreamed of mastering the language but built walls around myself, waiting for the day I’d feel “ready.” I forgot the truth: the only way is to dare, to get it wrong, to keep speaking anyway.

Ismael, a father of two girls, reminded me of my dad, sensitive, free-spirited, kind. He spoke slowly, gave me space, let me piece sentences together. His patience felt like a gift. He became an unexpected teacher, the kind I didn’t know I needed, showing me I’m already better than I thought.

Afterward, I recorded a short video of myself speaking Spanish and posted it on my private story. And that’s when everything shifted. A moment earlier I was soaring; the next, I felt exposed. First, I hated how I looked in the video, messy, not put together, not “pretty enough.” But I posted anyway, because I refuse to let vanity silence me. Then came the deeper doubt: who do I think I am, showing myself in a language I haven’t mastered? That old voice. But if I wait for perfection, I’ll never share anything, my own standards would make me wait until I am in the grave.

When I looked closer, I saw it wasn’t really about looks or language, it was about fear of silent judgment. That subtle, unspoken reaction from others, the one that’s haunted me all my life. So many times I’ve felt it, even when I’d done nothing wrong, and for years I let it make me smaller. I tried to dim myself, to be more relatable, more acceptable, less triggering. But not anymore. I’ll choose my fullest potential, even if it means being less loved.

Still, it’s exhausting. Most of the time I don’t care, but sometimes I slip back into watching who saw my stories, who read my blog, what people think. And it matters, because we live among each other’s perceptions, and the ones who say they don’t care often haven’t dared to fully choose/share themselves. I don't want to deny that I care because it is cringe, or I should just appear nonchalant about it. I wouldn't be true to myself. There's a part who do not care, but a contradictory one who do. And she has the right to be voiced too.

So I want to share for joy again, for the love of creating, not the approval. Today I walked into an old version of myself, but I’ll leave her here. I surrender.Which feels right, because eclipse season is unfolding along the Virgo–Pisces axis. I began the Camino on the very first eclipse day without even realizing it. I remember just thinking that the 7th was a beautiful number to start on. And later considered that it was indeed the full moon which opened this tunnel of surrender and control. Knowing that I'm a Virgo sun, and Pisces moon. Just incredible, and it’s no accident, I’m walking the question in real time: what do I control, and what do I let go of?

Later, with only a few kilometers left, I stopped for an omelette sandwich and there he was again, the guy I’ve exchanged glances with before. First, I saw him but my shyness made me act like I didn't. It's always with the guys I like the most that I restrain from showing the impact they can have on me. After a moment though, I took my courage, looked at him and we smiled. We haven’t spoken yet, but I really hope we will. I waved at him and his parents before leaving, and he waved back. He’s cute in that soft way I like, the kind that makes me feel light. An giddy, and romantic, and everything in between.

With music in my ears, I pushed on until my albergue, though pain shot through my knee just before arriving. Maybe I’ve overdone it. It’s hard to rest when everyone keeps moving, keeps setting big distances ahead, and reach them. But, as I learned, my body must come first. Hopefully tonight’s rest helps.

The dorm is a simple eight-bed female room. I got the top bunk, which isn't my favorite, but at this point even a mattress on the roof would do. I showered, washed clothes by hand, dressed, and went for lunch, where I ran into Nancy and Christelle again. Christelle still had 12 km left, I don’t know how she’ll do it. I wished her luck before eating eggs with chorizo and a flan coco.

Back at the albergue, I could barely walk. I tried to nap, couldn’t, grew frustrated, so I turned to the page again. Writing always softens me. I’ll get my work done now, then sleep nine hours if I can, or am lucky.

Still, it’s hard being here alone. Some days I wish I had a partner to share this adventure with, someone to lean on when I falter and who could lean on me too. I’m learning to be my own anchor, but I also feel ready for this love. Ready to meet someone who wants to travel the world, build a life where we choose each other every single day, and hold each other through every dream and hardship. I can feel it in my heart, I’m ready now.

With love, Loune.