Inside words

### **A Confession I’ve Never Said Out Loud**

There’s something I’ve never really admitted—not to my friends, not to my family, and maybe not even fully to myself. But if I don’t say it now, it will continue to sit in the back of my mind, a weight I carry in silence.

The truth is, I feel like I’m constantly pretending.

Not in the sense that I’m fake, or that I lie to people outright, but in a way that makes me question whether anyone really knows the real me. Every day, I put on a version of myself that I think people expect to see. I smile when I should, laugh at the right times, and say what people want to hear. I go through conversations and interactions as if I’m following a script, carefully choosing my words, making sure I don’t say too much or too little.

But the real me? I’m not sure who that is anymore.

I don’t know when this started. Maybe it was when I realized that not everyone wants to hear the truth—that sometimes, it’s easier to just say “I’m fine” rather than explain why I’m not. Maybe it was when I saw how people reacted when I showed vulnerability, how their expressions changed, how the conversation grew awkward. Or maybe it was just the fear of being too much, of burdening others with my thoughts and emotions.

So, I learned to keep things to myself.

I became good at giving advice but never taking my own. I learned how to listen to others without ever letting them listen to me. I became the person who people come to when they need help, the one who always seems to have it together, the one who doesn’t ask for anything in return. And for the most part, I don’t mind. It feels good to be needed, to be trusted. But sometimes, I wonder—if I stopped being useful, if I stopped being the person who always says the right thing, would people still care?

The hardest part is that I don’t even know how to change. How do you suddenly start being honest when you’ve spent so long hiding behind a carefully constructed version of yourself? How do you tell someone, “Actually, I’m not okay,” when you’ve spent years convincing them that you are?

The truth is, I want to be understood. I want to be able to say what’s on my mind without overthinking every word. I want to be able to admit when I’m struggling without feeling like I’m inconveniencing someone. I want to believe that people will stay, even when I’m not at my best.

But I’m scared.

I’m scared that if I stop pretending, people will see the cracks, the insecurities, the doubts. I’m scared that they won’t like what they see. And so, I keep playing my part, hoping that one day, someone will notice that there’s more to me than what I show.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing this now. Maybe this is my way of finally saying something I’ve been too afraid to say out loud. Maybe this is my way of admitting that I don’t always have it together, that sometimes, I feel lost, that sometimes, I wish someone would look past the surface and ask me how I really feel.

So, here it is—my confession: I don’t have all the answers. I don’t always know what I’m doing. And sometimes, I wish I could just be myself without worrying about what that means.

I don’t know what happens next. Maybe nothing changes. Maybe I wake up tomorrow and go back to pretending. Or maybe, just maybe, I take a small step toward being honest—not just with others, but with myself.

And maybe, that’s enough for now.