Thoughts start to pile up until I can’t tell which one hurts the most.
Doubt creeps in quietly, then stays.
There are moments when I look at myself and don’t recognize the person staring back.
I keep wondering if I’m enough. And when even I can’t answer that, I wish just once someone else would.
Suddenly my life feels smaller, like it doesn’t count.
This time, it broke me.
Not gently. Not slowly.
It shattered. Into pieces so tiny I don’t even know where to begin picking them up.
I hold things in because explaining hurts more than staying silent.
I think this is what people mean when they say they’re tired, but it’s deeper than sleep.
I’ve always tried to be gentle with others.
I never asked them to be perfect. I never judged them by their milestones.
I loved them where they were. I stayed when it was easy and when it wasn’t.
But when it was my turn to be weak, there was no softness left for me.
Why is my effort invisible?
Why is my pain so easy to ignore?
Why do I have to prove my worth to be treated gently?
It hurts the most when it comes from the closest ones.
I replay moments in my head, wondering when it became so easy to leave.
But deep down, I know this wasn’t about my worth. It was about their choice.
And maybe that’s where something changed in me.
Not loudly. Not all at once.
Just a quiet understanding.
Maybe I wasn’t asking for too much.
Maybe I was just asking the wrong people.
