I Carried It Alone

– until I started to write

I was just trying to understand why my childhood turned out the way it did. Some stories take years before they’re ready to be told.

I thought I was having fun, but really, I was just trying to escape myself.

I spent half my life pretending everything was fine. I did everything “right” — listened to doctors, friends, experts. But none of them could take away the silence inside me. That silence was mine to break. It wasn’t until I sat down alone with the keyboard — unfiltered — that things finally started to loosen, and I found myself right in the middle of the chaos.

I started writing years before I ever launched the blog. It actually began as a log connected to child custody and visitation, but over time it became something more — a kind of therapy for everything I’d been through as a kid. The painful memories came flooding back, and I started to remember things I’d buried for years. Things too heavy to carry, events that can break you even as an adult.

During this process, I started telling friends and some family members about what I’d experienced as a child. One of my closest friends, who’s known me since before primary school, simply said: “That explains a lot.” Others said the pieces finally fell into place. But the thing I heard most often was this: “You have to share it. You put it into words in a way no one else can.”

The reactions from family, however, were a completely different story. Some told me things I didn’t remember. Others confirmed events they’d witnessed or heard about from others. But several denied everything. They said I was lying. That I should stop digging. That I should shut up. Some even went as far as threatening to sue me if I shared my stories. We’ll see — maybe they’ll follow through the day I really tell it all.

Until that day, I still have plenty to share. Things I’ve experienced, things I see in society — and maybe I see them differently because of what I’ve been through myself. I have a whole archive of texts written over many years. Some friends have read a few, but most I’ve never shared with anyone. Those who have read them mostly say the same thing: that I need to share them, because they can help others understand — maybe even learn something.

When I first sat down to write openly, the plan was simple. I wanted to write honestly about life as it actually feels — not how it looks on the surface. About the body, the mind, love, society, and all the strange things we humans do. I wanted to write for us men, but in a way women could also relate to. Without filters. Without façades.

The plan was never to become a political voice. I wanted to write about the men we rarely talk about — the ones who carry more than they show. I’ve lost several friends to suicide. Good men. Strong men. The kind who laughed loud and looked like they had it together. And I’ve been there myself. I know how it feels when the darkness gets heavier than everything else — when you sit alone thinking maybe it’d be easier if it all just stopped. When you can’t pretend anymore.

It’s a loneliness many men know, but rarely speak about. We learn to clench our jaws, shut up, be strong. But it cracks eventually. I’ve been there — I know. I made it through, but it cost me everything. And that’s why I write — to say out loud what so many men walk around thinking but never dare to admit.

I also wanted to write about fathers — about men who fight to be part of their children’s lives but end up standing alone against a system that doesn’t understand what it does to them. And about health — why we men wait too long, why we ignore pain until the body finally says stop.

But then, somewhere along the way, everything changed. It started almost innocently — a post about foreign aid policy that was really just meant as a small comment, but it blew up in the news cycle. Since I’ve always been interested in what’s happening in the world and what really lies behind what the powerful tell us, I knew the media version didn’t add up — and I just got pissed off. Suddenly I was staying up half the night double-checking facts and sources, and before I knew it, I’d slipped into a different role — from writing about life, to writing about the world.

The drive took over, and I let it. It was exciting, and it felt important. But it also pulled me away from what I really wanted to express — the people, the silences, the things left unsaid.

Still, some posts hit close to what I’d envisioned from the start: The Crisis Cities Fail to See, A Future Without Growth?, A Global Mental Tsunami, and Norway’s Second Energy Story. They were about us — about how we try to keep up in a society changing faster than we can comprehend. In those, I recognized my voice again.

And then came When the Spark Dies! — the first one in a long time that came straight from real feelings and thoughts. Not politics (even if some will read it that way), not analysis, but pure reflection. About relationships, attraction, and how many men today see love. That post reminded me why I started writing in the first place.

So now I’m going back to where I was meant to be. Not because I regret what I’ve written, but because I remember why I started. I want to write about people, not power. About reality as it actually feels — not as it’s packaged in headlines.

The blog will still hold everything it has before, but the focus will shift. Society and politics will still be there — but seen from below, the way people actually experience it. Everything else — health, food, research, family, relationships, and all the messy stuff we call life — will finally get to breathe again.

And behind the scenes, something new is happening. I’m not revealing everything yet, but one thing I can say: this time, Laila’s part of it.

I can feel it now. I’m back where it all began. Not starting over — but back on the right track. It feels like finally being able to breathe freely again.

But before you think I’m about to go all soft and stay away from anything that smells like politics, I should probably warn you: the first blog post after this “new start” declaration is actually about politics. Or rather — about the people and the elite.

So yeah, I know what you’re thinking: here we go again. But no. This is different. The People vs. The Elite isn’t a political post in the usual sense — it’s an explanation. An attempt to clear up misunderstandings and explain why I’ve written the way I have. And why I’ll still write about politics — just from a different place. Not from above, but from below.

After that comes Climate Food. And from there, we move forward. I’ve got a big archive of texts, but from now on, it’ll be different. I want to write more personally — more honestly — and use my own experiences as a lens to understand both life and the world around us.

I know I’ve only just begun to open the doors to what I’ve really been through. There’s more to come, but I need to feel my way there. Some of it’s heavy to put into words, but I’ll get there — piece by piece.

I hope you’ll join me on the journey. Stay tuned.