There’s a version of me the world got too comfortable with—The unbothered one. The strong one. The one who always had a comeback, a prayer, or a perfectly timed joke.
But that wasn’t peace. That was performance. That was me learning how to mask my pain before it exposed me.
I got really good at hiding my broken. Tucking it under smiles. Drowning it in productivity. Packaging it in loyalty so deep, folks never questioned if I needed help—they just kept needing me. And I kept showing up… because disappearing meant I’d have to sit with it.
The grief. The betrayal. The anger I didn’t feel safe enough to express. The anxiety I dressed up as “just being tired.” The heartbreak I convinced myself I healed from, even though it still burned every time I saw their name.
I would’ve shattered long ago— I SHOULD have shattered long ago. If I hadn’t become a master of disguising the crack.
But masking ain’t healing. And the body always keeps score. So eventually… the mask slipped.
My silence started screaming. My laughter stopped landing. The exhaustion became too loud to ignore. And I couldn’t pretend anymore. I CAN’T PRETEND ANYMORE!
Now, I’m learning to unmask. To admit when I’m not okay. To cry without apologizing. To not flinch when someone asks, “How are you really?” To stop trying to be their safe space while I’m bleeding out alone in mine.
There’s a difference between being private and being imprisoned by your pain. I know that now. I’m fighting through now. I’m learning to release myself from the anguish of silence, the torment of “strength.”
So if you’re reading this and you feel seen—If you’ve been performing strength just to keep from breaking— This is your reminder: You’re allowed to lay it down. The mask. The armor. The weight you keep hiding in plain sight.
You don’t have to prove your strength by pretending your soul doesn’t get heavy.
Sometimes the real flex is falling apart… and finally letting yourself be held.
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Kae Jaye The Writer 