Some pains have no language, no audience, no sanctuary to rest in. They exist in the quiet corners of our minds, whispering truths too raw to be spoken. I carry mine like a heavy stone in my chest, its weight constant but invisible to the world.

It’s strange how the most profound struggles are often the ones we tuck away, guarding them like secrets we can’t risk exposing. Maybe it’s fear, fear of judgment, misunderstanding, or the vulnerability that comes with baring our deepest wounds. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that some things can’t be fixed, only carried.

There are moments I want to scream into the void, to break the silence surrounding this ache, but the words never come. They get stuck in my throat, tangled with the shame of not being strong enough or whole enough to simply let go.

Instead, I endure. I build walls around the pain, layer by layer, convincing myself that solitude is strength. But every stone feels heavier than the last, and the weight of it all presses down on me in moments when no one is watching. The silence I once cherished now echoes with doubts and unspoken fears, each one gnawing at the edges of my resolve. I tell myself this isolation is a choice, a testament to my resilience, but deep inside, it feels like a punishment, a lonely fortress I can’t escape.

There’s a part of me, buried beneath the layers of defenses, that aches to be seen, to be known without the exhausting need to explain. I long for someone whose presence feels like warmth on a bitterly cold day, someone who wouldn’t flinch at the sight of my cracks but instead see them as the story of how I’ve survived. It’s not just light I seek, it’s the kind of light that doesn’t blind or demand but simply exists, steady and unwavering, reminding me that even the broken can be beautiful.

And yet, I’m afraid. Afraid that no one will ever see past these walls, or worse, that they’ll see the truth and turn away. I keep reminding myself I’m strong, even as the solitude wraps tighter around me, a comfort that has become a cage.

For now, all I have is this page, this silent confession to the one place that doesn’t demand answers or solutions. I don’t know if this will ever leave me, but tonight, at least, I have given it a name. Maybe that’s the first step.

Perhaps tomorrow will feel lighter. Perhaps not. But I’ll keep walking. That much I promise myself.

Love,

Ana 💋