I like being alone, not because I don’t care about people, but because peace feels safer than forced conversations and pretending I’m okay when I’m not.
Some days, I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to answer messages, make small talk, or explain why I’m struggling. My mind feels so full of thoughts, emotions, memories, and worries that it feels like it might explode. There are times when I feel completely misunderstood, like no one truly sees what I’m carrying or hears what I’m not saying.
The truth is, I rarely tell people how I really feel. I’ve spent most of my life holding everything inside and convincing myself I have to handle it on my own.
I didn’t get the childhood I deserved. Trauma became part of my life before I could even understand what was happening. I learned how to be strong, how to survive, and how to carry on no matter what. But I never learned how to feel safe.
I carried fear, sadness, responsibility, and pain that no child should ever have to endure. While other children were learning who they were, I was learning how to protect myself. While they were feeling carefree, I was carrying burdens that were never mine to carry. And after years of doing that, I am tired.
What makes it even harder is that I don’t know what life feels like without the trauma. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I don’t know where the pain ends and where I begin. The hurt has been woven into my story for so long that separating myself from it feels impossible.
I want to heal. More than anything, I want to know what it feels like to live instead of simply surviving. I want to feel peace without guilt, joy without fear, and safety without constantly waiting for something bad to happen. But healing from wounds that began so early in life is incredibly hard. Some days it feels overwhelming, and some days I wonder if I’ll ever fully find my way through it.
Yet somewhere deep inside me, there is still a part that wants something different. That desire matters. It reminds me that even though the burden feels unbearably heavy at times, part of me is still reaching for healing, still searching for peace, and still hoping for a life that isn’t defined by pain.
So if I seem distant, quiet, or choose solitude, it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I’ve spent a lifetime carrying things I was never meant to carry. I’m still learning how to put some of that weight down, how to heal, and how to find myself Beneath Grief.
