Becoming a Subject

We are not born as subjects.

We become one, slowly, through the folds of time,

shaped by shocks, by bonds, by collapses we have survived.

It is not a given, nor a character trait.

It is a process — always fragile, always unfinished.

Becoming a subject

means learning not to be merely the product of what made us,

what wounded us, what we lacked.

It means weaving, from within those very ruptures,

something singular — a voice, a gaze, a way of inhabiting the world.

It means welcoming what once frightened us.

It means daring to think instead of repeat.

It means risking one’s way into unmapped zones.

It means speaking oneself without dissolving,

and binding oneself to others without vanishing.

To be a subject is not to believe oneself master of all things.

It is, on the contrary, to relinquish the illusion of control,

to enter a more nuanced, more embodied, more alive relationship with oneself.

It is to make space for what spills over,

what resists, what unsettles,

and to seek understanding rather than dominion.

In the therapeutic space,

subjectivation speaks in a quiet voice.

It finds its way through trembling,

through fragments,

through silences that begin to carry weight.

It does not yield certainty,

but a greater hospitality to the unknown.

And sometimes,

in a phrase heard differently,

or a long-frozen memory that begins to thaw,

something shifts.

And then it is not only suffering that subsides.

It is life that begins, once more, to flow.