Things I’m holding in


I have so much inside my head that feels trapped.

Thoughts I don’t know how to say out loud. Feelings I second-guess before I even allow myself to feel them. Questions I keep circling back to because I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask them.

And somehow, I can feel happier than I have in years while also carrying this underlying feeling of fear.

That’s the part I don’t know how to explain.

How can something feel so beautiful and so frightening at the same time?

I’ve become very good at trying to do everything right.

Trying harder.

Giving more.

Explaining myself.

Being understanding.

Being patient.

Making compromises.

Trying to anticipate what someone needs before they even have to ask.

And yet somehow, I still end up wondering whether I’m enough.

There are moments when I feel like I’m finally doing everything I’m supposed to do, only to realize that the definition of “enough” has somehow changed again.

So I try harder.

And then harder than that.

Until I don’t even know whether I’m acting out of love anymore or simply trying to avoid disappointing someone.

I’ve started questioning my own instincts.

When I speak up, I wonder if I’m being difficult.

When I stay quiet, I wonder if I’m betraying myself.

When I need space, I feel guilty.

When I need reassurance, I feel like I’m asking for too much.

When I try to protect my own boundaries, I wonder if I’m hurting someone else.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped knowing where the line was between being a good partner and completely losing myself.

I do things because I care.

I create things.

I plan things.

I remember little details.

I try to make people feel loved in the ways I know how.

But sometimes, when things become difficult, I find myself questioning whether any of those things actually mattered.

Whether the love I gave was seen for what it was.

Whether the good moments were real.

Whether the words I’ve held onto meant the same thing to the person who said them as they meant to me.

And that’s a terrifying place to exist.

Because I don’t want love to make me constantly question reality.

I don’t want to wonder whether I’m safe to speak.

I don’t want to feel like honesty has consequences.

I don’t want to become afraid of being misunderstood.

I want to be able to say, “This hurt me,” without feeling like I’m putting the entire relationship at risk.

I want to be able to have feelings without having to build a courtroom case proving that I’m allowed to have them.

I want to be able to be a whole person.

Not just the version of me that is easiest to love.

Not just the version of me that never gets frustrated.

Never needs anything.

Never makes mistakes.

Never needs reassurance.

Never takes up too much space.

Because I’m human.

And I’m realizing that maybe I’ve spent too much of my life measuring my worth by how useful I am to other people.

How much I can give.

How much I can tolerate.

How well I can keep things together.

How easily I can make myself smaller when someone else needs more room.

And I’m tired.

I’m so incredibly tired.

I don’t want to disappear.

I want the pain to disappear.

I want the constant questioning to disappear.

I want the feeling that I have to earn my place in someone’s life to disappear.

I want to stop feeling replaceable.

I want to stop wondering whether anyone would notice if I stopped trying so hard.

Because somewhere underneath all of this is still me.

The person who loves deeply.

The person who cares too much sometimes.

The person who makes things, writes things, dreams things, and gets excited about little moments.

The person who wants to be loved without having to perform for it.

The person who wants to feel safe enough to tell the truth.

The person who is still learning that having boundaries doesn’t make her cruel.

That having needs doesn’t make her needy.

That being hurt doesn’t make her dramatic.

That taking care of herself isn’t abandonment.

And that being loved should never require her to completely disappear.

I don’t have all the answers.

Maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I don’t need to figure everything out tonight.

Maybe for now, I just need to remember that I’m still here.

And maybe that’s enough for today.


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