The Weight No One Sees

This week was heavy.

And not just because of one thing—everything felt like too much.

People see the smile. They hear the laugh.

And they assume I’m okay.

Strong. Unshaken. Unbothered.

But the truth?

No one ever stops to ask if the strong one is even holding on.

They don’t ask if I’ve cried more than I’ve slept.

They don’t ask how many times I’ve swallowed silence just to keep the peace.

They don’t ask how often life feels like it’s picking me apart piece by piece…

And the worst part?

Even if I tried to explain, who would hold that space?

Who would be willing to carry even a fraction of the weight I carry daily?

Who would offer the tenderness, the courage, the presence

to help me gather what’s been scattered?

Because if I told the truth—

about the betrayal, the brokenness,

the pain inflicted by those who were supposed to protect me—

I’d be labeled.

Too emotional. Too damaged. Too stuck in the past.

But what is healing without accountability?

What is healing when the hurt is silenced?

What is healing if I have to do it wearing a damn mask?

I’m tired.

Of being the one that people come to,

but never being the one who gets checked on.

Family ain’t family.

Friends are far and fading.

And love? It feels like a punchline more than a promise.

So where does that leave me?

Here.

Numb, broken, partially held together

by the thinnest thread of hope—

stitched together by prayer and second-by-second survival.

But I move forward.

Because I don’t know how not to.

And maybe one day, someone will finally ask…

not what I’ve created, not what I’m fixing,

but how I really am.

Until then, I write. I exhale. I keep standing.

~Kae Jaye~