Behind the Silence, I Scream

You Call It Strength, But You Don’t See Me Break

They say I’m strong.

They look at how I carry on—how I smile politely at the grocery store clerk, how I manage to work full-time, pay bills, raise kids, and still remember to ask how someone else is doing.

They look at my life like a highlight reel and call me resilient.

But what they don't see is that every single day, I wake up with a heaviness I can't explain—like the weight of the world settled on my chest while I slept. They don't see me hesitating to open my eyes, because reality is sometimes harder than the dreams I leave behind. They don’t hear the thoughts that creep into my mind before my feet even touch the ground. The thoughts that whisper, “You’re tired.” “You can’t do this again.” “You’re alone.”

They don’t see me standing in the shower, letting the water mix with the tears I don’t have the strength to hide anymore.

They don’t see how I talk to myself in the mirror, repeating, “You’ve got this,” with a voice that sounds less convincing every morning.

And they certainly don’t see the cracks in the porcelain of who I pretend to be.

**

They say I’m brave.

But bravery is not waking up ready for battle. It’s waking up broken and still getting out of bed. It’s carrying around invisible wounds with no one asking where it hurts.

I am not brave because I’m not afraid. I’m brave because I’m terrified, and still, I show up.

Even when the only one clapping is the voice inside me whispering, “Just one more hour. You’ve done harder things than this.”

**

I’ve learned to laugh at my pain so it doesn’t feel so powerful.

I’ve learned to make others laugh too—because their laughter keeps me distracted from my silence.

But when I lay down at night, after the world has stopped demanding from me, I come undone.

No filters. No roles. No performance.

Just me. Raw and real and tired of pretending.

**

They say I’m always there for everyone.

But who is there for me?

I am the strong one in the group. The reliable one. The one they call when they need something. But when I go silent, nobody notices. And if they do, they assume I’m just “busy being strong.”

They don’t know I often cry myself to sleep—not because of a single tragedy, but because of the slow accumulation of carrying too much for too long.

**

They say I’m independent.

They admire that I don’t need anyone.

But here’s the truth: I do need people.

I just got tired of reaching out and being met with silence, or worse, indifference. So I stopped asking.

I stopped hoping.

And instead, I became my own hero in a story I never wanted to write.

**

They tell me I’m lucky because I’m “holding it all together.”

But they don’t see the invisible tape I use to keep myself from falling apart. They don’t see the journal full of entries I can’t let anyone read, the text messages I type and delete, or the prayers I whisper into the dark, hoping someone—something—is listening.

They see the surface. But beneath it, I am oceans deep in pain, waves crashing inside me that never make it to shore.

**

Sometimes I wonder—what would happen if I stopped pretending?

If one day, I said, “I’m not okay.”

Would the world stop?

Would someone hold me instead of giving advice?

Would they finally understand that the girl who always has the answers is running out of them?

Would they see me—not the mask I wear, not the armor I built, but me?

**

I’ve been strong for so long, it feels like weakness to need help. But I’m learning that strength isn’t always loud and unshaken. Sometimes strength is admitting, “I’m tired. I need a break. I need to be seen.”

I don’t need your praise.

I don’t need you to tell me how inspiring I am.

I need you to sit with me.

To let me speak without fixing me.

To let me be quiet without assuming I’m fine.

To hold space for my struggle the way I’ve held space for everyone else’s.

**

Because survival is not a badge I asked for.

It’s the result of learning, far too young, that the world doesn't always come to save you.

It’s the art of smiling through the pain so others don’t feel uncomfortable.

It’s knowing how to hide in plain sight.

**

So before you call me strong again, look a little closer.

See the scars behind the smile.

Hear the silence behind the laugh.

Feel the ache behind the routine.

And maybe, just maybe, understand that I don’t need to be strong today.

I just need to be seen.