THE THINGS I NEVER SAY OUT LOUD

There are things I think

but never say.

Not because they are dramatic

or unkind

or untrue

but because some truths feel too heavy to hand to someone else.

Some truths feel like glass.

Some truths feel like childhood echoes.

Some truths feel like

“If I say this out loud, I will not be able to take it back.”

So instead

I swallow them.

Let them settle in my chest.

Let them hum under the surface like electricity.

Not silent –

just stored.

Because some things were never safe to speak.

THE QUIET THOUGHT:

“I AM TIRED OF HOLDING EVERYTHING”

Not physically tired.

Emotionally tired.

The kind of tired that sits behind your eyes.

The kind that creeps into your voice.

The kind that makes your shoulders ache

even when you are still.

The tired that does not go away

after sleep

or coffee

or a day off.

The tired that comes from being:

↪︎ the planner

↪︎ the noticer

↪︎ the one who adjusts

↪︎ the one who remembers

↪︎ the one who fills in the gaps

↪︎ the one who feels everything

↪︎ the one who holds the room together

even when no one else does

It is not that I cannot carry it.

It is that I wish I did not have to carry it alone.

THE UNSPOKEN SENTENCE:

“I MISS THE VERSION OF ME I NEVER GOT TO BE”

The girl who could have breathed easier.

The girl who did not have to be alert all the time.

The girl who was allowed to be soft without being punished for it.

The girl who did not have to figure everything out alone.

The girl who was not raised on emotional landmines & silent expectations.

I think of her sometimes –

⤷ the girl untouched by trauma

⤷ the girl with help

⤷ the girl with gentleness

⤷ the girl with guidance

⤷ the girl who did not have to parent herself

She feels like a ghost

I know intimately

but never met.

I grieve her

even though she never lived.

THE HALF-FUCKED TRUTH:

“I STOPPED EXPECTING PEOPLE TO SHOW UP FOR ME”

Not out of bitterness.

Out of pattern recognition.

You can only be disappointed so many times

before your heart quietly recalibrates.

I do not assume support.

I do not assume care.

I do not assume consistency.

I assume silence.

I assume distance.

I assume self-preservation from every direction but my own.

It is not that I do not love people.

I love deeply.

Maybe too deeply.

But I learned early:

✗ Some people do not stay.

✗ Some people do not come.

✗ Some people do not try.

✗ Some people do not see you until you are breaking.

& even then?

They squint.

So, I learned to show up for myself.

Even when I am tired.

Especially when I am tired.

THE INTERNAL MONOLOGUE:

“I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO REST”

Rest feels foreign.

Unstructured.

Threatening.

Stillness used to be dangerous.

Stillness meant someone was angry

or disappointed

or silently simmering

or about to explode.

So now as an adult

my brain confuses rest with risk.

My body says:

“This feels unsafe.”

My childhood says:

“You should be doing something.”

My nervous system says:

“Brace.”

So instead of resting

I clean

I work

I fix

I anticipate

I plan

I distract

I stay busy

because busy feels safer than vulnerable.

Rest requires trust.

I am still learning that.