The Pain You Post Isn’t the One That Hurts

They only see your feed. They don’t see what happens before you hit ‘share.’

You post the lift. Not the fall.

That one rep where your arms gave in

you never hit “upload” then.

You show the run.

Not the mile where your lungs betrayed you,

where your knees said “no”

and your mind whispered

you’re falling behind again.

You shared your coffee this morning,

the one with a cute swirl of foam,

but not the fifteen minutes

you sat on the bathroom floor

wondering if you still have time to fix your life.

You post sunsets.

Not seizures of silence.

Not the ache that travels behind your eyes,

the one no aspirin touches.

You post your mother’s smile.

But not her memory fading.

Not the moment she forgot your name

and laughed like it was nothing.

You write quotes about resilience.

But I see how you reread them

as if they might rewrite you too.

You celebrate “wins.”

But you hide your shaking hands when you accept them,

as if you don’t believe you earned any of it.

I don’t judge you.

I do it too.

We all build these digital illusions

because the truth doesn’t get likes.

Because “I’m fine” fits better in captions

than:

I miss the person I was before the pain began.

You don’t owe the world your scars.

But don’t forget:

You are more than a filter,

more than the lie of strength,

more than the pain you’ve been taught to hide.