<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>SelfCompassion on nezutero</title><link>http://nezutero.dev/blog/selfcompassion/</link><description>Recent content in SelfCompassion on nezutero</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-US</language><copyright>Copyright © 2026, nezutero</copyright><lastBuildDate>Tue, 11 Aug 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="http://nezutero.dev/blog/selfcompassion/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>On the Ledger I Didn't Know I Was Keeping</title><link>http://nezutero.dev/on-the-ledger-i-didnt-know-i-was-keeping/</link><pubDate>Tue, 11 Aug 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>http://nezutero.dev/on-the-ledger-i-didnt-know-i-was-keeping/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Rewritten 28 August 2026&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;I open the laptop telling myself it&amp;rsquo;s just one episode, and somehow it&amp;rsquo;s 2am and I&amp;rsquo;m still there. I&amp;rsquo;ve lived this exact scene often enough that I could write out what happens next without needing to go through it again: the flat, heavy feeling of an entire day gone, the promise that tomorrow will be different, that this time I&amp;rsquo;ll actually read, actually study, actually write. Sometimes tomorrow is that day. Sometimes it&amp;rsquo;s a whole week of those days. And then, without any single dramatic failure I could point to and blame, I&amp;rsquo;m back exactly where I started. Again&amp;hellip;&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>