Why Do You Hide It?

Why Do You Hide It?

Why do you hide it?

The trembling in your voice when you say you're "fine."

The way your eyes shift away when someone looks too long,

As if truth might spill out if they stare hard enough.

Why do you bury it so deep?

That storm in your chest,

The silent ache that hums just beneath your smile.

You dress it up in jokes, in busy days, in "I'm just tired."

But I see it.

The weight you carry like a second skin.

Did someone teach you to be silent?

That to be strong is to be still?

That emotion makes you weak,

And breaking down is failure?

You’re not weak.

You are human—

And that is not a flaw.

There is no shame in feeling.

In letting the dam break,

In showing the scar,

In saying, “I need help.”

Because hiding it doesn’t heal it.

Silence doesn’t soften the blow.

And pretending you’re whole doesn’t make it so.

So why do you hide it?

When what you carry might just be

The very thing

That connects you

To someone else

Who thought they were alone, too.

Why do you hide it?

Not just the sadness,

But everything beneath it.

The heaviness in your chest you pretend not to feel.

The unanswered questions that haunt you in quiet moments.

The disappointments you carry like shadows behind every smile.

You wear masks so well,

The world might think you’ve never struggled a day in your life.

You say, “I’m fine,”

With such ease,

As though repetition might eventually make it true.

But tell me,

When you close the door at night,

When the world grows quiet and the distractions fade,

When there’s no one to impress, no one to protect,

What do you feel then?

Is it emptiness?

Fear?

Anger at the things you can’t say out loud?

Grief for a version of yourself you lost somewhere along the way?

Why do you hide it?

Who told you that being strong meant being silent?

That asking for help is weakness,

That pain should be endured alone,

In the dark,

With a straight spine and dry eyes?

Maybe it started when you were young.

When you cried and someone said,

“Stop being dramatic.”

When you asked for comfort and were told,

“You’re fine. Get over it.”

And somewhere in that moment,

You learned that hiding your hurt was safer

Than risking rejection.

You began to build walls—

Not just to keep others out,

But to keep your truth in.

You smiled when you wanted to scream.

You laughed when you wanted to fall apart.

You learned to function, not to feel.

But functioning is not the same as living.

You’re moving, yes.

Breathing, yes.

But are you alive?

There’s a difference.

Being alive means being present—

With all of it.

The joy and the sorrow.

The hope and the heartache.

It means allowing yourself to be seen,

Even in the messy places.

Especially in the messy places.

Why do you hide it,

When you were never meant to carry it all alone?

You were made for connection.

For the gentle embrace of “I understand.”

For the sacred space of “Me too.”

For the healing that only honesty can bring.

You think you’re protecting yourself by holding it in.

But silence is not safety.

It’s isolation.

And slowly, it erodes you from the inside out.

What if—just for a moment—you let the mask slip?

What if you said,

“I’m tired of pretending”?

What if someone looked at your cracks

And saw not failure,

But beauty?

Not weakness,

But truth?

You do not need to explain your pain.

You only need to feel it.

To name it.

To let it breathe.

That is not failure.

That is freedom.

So I ask you again—

Why do you hide it?

When your tears are sacred.

When your story has weight.

When your healing might inspire someone else to begin theirs.

You are not a burden.

You are not too much.

You are not broken beyond repair.

You are human.

And being human is not a flaw—

It’s a miracle.

So come out of hiding.

Lay down the armor.

Open the door you locked long ago.

Let someone in.

Let yourself out.

Speak.

Feel.

Live.

Because you were never meant

To suffer silently

In a world full of people

Who are aching

Just like you.