The Cry

I used to be the kind of person who could turn anything into something positive. Cliché as it may sound, I even loved the idea that resilience could be the opening letter of my name—my identity, my anchor. But today, I find myself unable to fully understand the person I’ve become. I grew too comfortable, too trusting, that I forgot the invisible yet powerful boundaries I should have guarded with my life.

Now I feel worn down—fragmented. I’m exhausted from keeping the energy bright, exhausted from painting everything as “fine” when inside, something is quietly collapsing. In trying so hard to lighten the weight of every situation, I somehow misplaced the weight of my own worth. I don’t know why I stay silent so often. Maybe I am a people-pleaser. Maybe I’ve just forgotten how to choose myself. Or maybe… I simply don’t know how to describe what’s happening to me anymore.

I keep pushing myself to cry, hoping it will reset whatever this heaviness is—as if my emotions could reboot like a machine. I don’t even know where these words are leading; I’m just letting my thoughts spill in the only way I can manage right now.

What I do know is this: I need to take accountability for myself. I need to relearn how to control the things within my reach—my reactions, my boundaries, my truth—instead of trying to fix the things that were never mine to control in the first place.