I told someone something true about myself.
Something I had spent a ridiculous amount of time analyzing, minimizing, and trying to make less important. The realization was pretty simple: I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to keep everyone else okay, even when it meant I was the one who hurt.
Somewhere along the way, I decided that was the price of being a good person.
So I decided I was done doing that. I let myself be honest. And for a little while, it felt really good. Then things got quiet.
And I completely lost my shit.
Suddenly the honesty I had been proud of felt like oversharing. Why did I say all of that? Was I too much? Did I make things weird? Can I somehow shove all of that back inside me?
The worst part was realizing there had been an unspoken hope underneath my vulnerability: Please don’t disappear after I let you see me.
I wanted reassurance. I wanted some small sign that being fully human hadn’t cost me anything. And when I didn’t immediately get it, my brain filled in the blanks with the worst possible explanations. But maybe feeling exposed doesn’t mean I overshared. Maybe wanting reassurance doesn’t mean I need to chase it. Maybe silence doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe this is simply the uncomfortable part of learning to be known.
I’ve spent years making myself easier for other people. Of course letting someone see more of me feels terrifying. I don’t want to crawl back into hiding just because vulnerability hurt. I also don’t want to hand my emotional safety to someone else. I’m trying to find the space between those things.
A place where I can say, this is me, and then stay beside myself afterward. Even when I’m scared. Even when it’s quiet. Even when every part of me wants to take it all back. Maybe the next step isn’t learning how to share more. Maybe it’s learning not to abandon myself after I do.