The Manifesto of Becoming

A declaration for those who have survived, endured, and chosen to rise.

By M. Lor La Chainey

I. THE RISE

You can’t break me anymore.
I’ve come too far to be stopped.

I’ll stumble. I’ll fall. I welcome it.
Every rise leaves me stronger, a little wiser.
I know this because I’ve lived it—over and over.

I’ve walked through storms that should have shattered me.

For years, I lived in the dark, trapped in my own chaos, searching for what was wrong with me. I thought I needed a cure. A fix. Something external to make me whole.

I was wrong.

Coming to terms with adoptee trauma taught me something fundamental: there was never anything wrong with me. My instincts weren’t broken; they were protecting me. My body and mind did what they had to do to keep me alive.

Looking back, I’m grateful.
It wasn’t pretty. But it was necessary.

Survival always outranks comfort.

I didn’t come from a safe place.
So I built one.

That took time.
It took courage.
It took facing parts of myself I wanted to avoid.

People who’ve never experienced deep trauma rarely understand how fortunate they are. Those of us who have know we’d never wish it on anyone.

But we gained something in return: sharper awareness, deeper empathy, and an unshakable will to continue.

I speak the language of pain fluently.
And I know I’m not alone.

II. THE PRISON OF FAMILIARITY

We could stay stuck in the past, telling ourselves life is unfair.
It is.

But nothing meaningful is built by staying there.

We always have agency, even when it feels buried.

Too often, we lock ourselves inside prisons disguised as safety. Toxic relationships. Familiar chaos. Patterns that hurt us daily but feel normal because they’re what we learned.

When dysfunction is familiar, the brain calls it home.

Leaving is hard.
Asking for help is harder.

But if I can offer you one thing, let it be this:
you deserve better. Your needs matter.

Choosing yourself isn’t a betrayal.
Sometimes, it’s the only way to stay alive.

III. THE YEARNING TO BELONG

We all want to belong.
That yearning is not weakness; it’s fuel.

I believe we hold far more potential than we’ve been taught to access. This work exists because I’m uncovering mine. If you’re here, part of you is doing the same.

I was fortunate.
Amid the noise and instability, I had people who showed me what steadiness looked like. They lived with integrity. They cared. They chose kindness.

Not everyone gets that example.
I don’t take it lightly.

Their presence didn’t erase my pain, but it gave me a direction to grow toward.

This manifesto is an invitation: to dig into what you’ve buried, to face your past without shame, and to explore the darker parts of yourself with self-respect instead of fear.

We don't need more people dimming themselves to survive. We need people willing to live honestly, consciously, and deliberately.

IV. THE CHOICE TO HEAL

Last year, I made a choice.
A real one.

I committed—fully—to healing, creating, and leading the life I desire.

Not fixing what’s “broken.”
Forging what’s strong.

I carry something inside me. A voice shaped by abandonment and the ache of never fully belonging. Not in my birth country. Not where I live now.

I used to think this displacement was a void.
Now I see it as an expanse.

V. THE INTEGRATION

We don’t heal by locking pain away.

Shame, grief, and loneliness—they are part of us. When integrated, they become tools. When suppressed, they rot.

I choose a better way to relate to myself.

For those who carry trauma: feel it. The weight is real. Healing takes time and devotion.
For those who love someone who carries it: be patient. Listen without fixing. Trust grows slowly.

VI. THE COURAGE TO FACE YOURSELF

Trauma may break us.
It does not define us.

There will be scars. Let them remain. They are proof of pain survived, strength earned, and forward motion chosen.

Stop numbing yourself.
Distraction is the slowest form of self-betrayal.

Avoidance feeds fear.
Facing it weakens its grip.

You are a person with both strength and shadow. That shadow can chain you—but if you listen carefully, it can also reveal buried instincts and forgotten truths.

For me, no more.
I’d rather dismantle what was imposed on me and build something of my own.

Meditation taught me stillness.
Stillness taught me honesty.
Honesty revealed how much joy I once denied myself.

No more.

VII. THE BECOMING

I’ve read my old journals. I know who I was: angry. ashamed. scattered. lost.

I also know who I’m becoming: grounded. grateful. deliberate.

But I need to be honest with you.

I am still struggling to find my way.

Even with all the work I’ve done—the meditation, the journals, the hard conversations—I’m still meeting parts of me I don’t fully understand yet.

And that’s okay.

I still stumble.
I still doubt.
I still carry weight I wish I could put down.

That’s what keeps me human.

The willingness to show and acknowledge your weakness is what makes you strong. Not the absence of fear. Not the erasure of pain.

But the courage to keep moving forward while carrying both.

Perfection was never the goal.
Honesty is.

VIII. THE INVITATION

It’s okay to feel weak.
It’s okay to feel lost.

This is where transformation begins.

You’re in the process of becoming. If you’ve read this far, something in you already knows that. Trust it.

This is the work of becoming.

We forge it deliberately—one choice, one breath, one honest moment at a time.

Imperfect.
Struggling.
Human.

And those who’ve walked this path will recognize you when you arrive. Not because you reached some final place, but because you kept moving toward the part of you that refused to be abandoned.

CLOSING DECLARATION

Becoming yourself is not a destination.
It’s a devotion.

A vow to walk toward the places you once avoided. To face the dragon within—not to kill it, but to learn its language.

This path won’t spare you from fear.
It will ask you to carry it.

Every trembling step is proof that you’re weaving your shadow back into your strength.

And there will come a moment—quiet, unmistakable—when you realize you can no longer look away.

Not because you conquered anything.
But because you finally turned toward what has been calling your name.

When that moment comes, stand there.
Look clearly.
With self-respect.

Then keep going.

You’re becoming the kind of real that can’t be undone.