There was a time I thought strength meant silence — that surviving meant never letting the cracks show. I wore my pain like armor, thinking if I could just hold it all in, I could hold everything together.But the truth is… I was shattering inside. Quietly. Daily.People said, “You’re so strong,” and I nodded. Smiled. Swallowed tears. But they didn’t see me at 2 a.m., sitting on the floor with my head in my hands, wondering how I’d survive another tomorrow. They didn’t see the silent battles, the breathless panic, the ache I couldn’t explain.I used to think being honest about my pain made me weak. But now I see — honesty is where the real strength lives. In saying, “I’m not okay,” and still getting up. In letting the storm be seen and learning how to breathe anyway.This isn’t a story tied with a bow. It’s a story that sometimes still needs boxing gloves, because the storm hasn’t passed. My heart still aches in places I don’t have words for. But I’m learning…It’s okay to fall apart sometimes.It’s okay to reach out for support and connection.It doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m human.And it means I’m healing.
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help support our journey:
Letters From the Edge 