When my therapist asked me why it’s so hard for me to talk about my feelings, I honestly didn’t know how to answer. My first thought was, “I don’t know… it just is.”
The more I sat with it, the more I realized I’ve spent most of my life talking about everything except my feelings.
I can tell you what’s wrong with my knees. I can explain every fibroid in my uterus. I can tell you what time I woke up, how much pain I was in, how many hours I worked, what my MRI said, and what my next doctor’s appointment is. Those things are easy. They’re facts.
But ask me how I feel about any of it, and suddenly my mind goes blank.
I think part of it is because I’ve always felt like I had to be the strong one. If something goes wrong, I figure it out. I don’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. I make a plan. I keep moving. That’s just what I’ve always done.
The funny thing is, people probably think I’m this really strong person. And don’t get me wrong, I am strong. But strength and sadness can exist at the same time. I don’t think I ever gave myself permission to believe that.
I also don’t like feeling like a burden. Everybody has something they’re dealing with. Why should I add my problems to their list? So instead of saying, “I’m struggling,” I say, “I’m okay.” Even when I’m clearly not okay.
I’ve become really good at convincing other people I’m fine. Sometimes I even convince myself.
Humor has always been my escape. If I can make a joke, throw in a little sarcasm, or laugh at the situation, then maybe it doesn’t feel so heavy. Sometimes that’s healthy. Sometimes it’s just me changing the subject without anyone noticing… including myself.
Being away from my family has been harder than I like to admit. I miss my mom every single day. I miss hearing her tell me everything is going to be okay. I miss her telling me I’m stronger than I think I am because, truthfully, there are days when I don’t believe it myself.
When I started talking about her in therapy, I cried almost immediately. That caught me off guard because I wasn’t planning to cry. I wasn’t even feeling emotional… or at least I didn’t think I was.
My therapist pointed out something I had never realized. My mom’s words of affirmation are one of my biggest coping mechanisms.
That hit me.
When life feels overwhelming, when my anxiety is high, when my body hurts, when I’m scared about surgery, hearing my mom say she’s proud of me somehow makes everything feel a little less heavy.
I think that’s why I cried.
Not because I’m weak.
Because I miss my safe place.
The truth is, I’m scared about this surgery. I’ve been telling everyone, including myself, that I’m fine. That I’m unbothered. That whatever happens, happens.
That wasn’t true.
I’m anxious.
I’m lonely.
I’m scared of waking up without my mom there.
I’m scared of the unknown.
And saying those words out loud feels uncomfortable because I’ve spent so many years pretending I could carry everything by myself.
Maybe that’s why talking about my feelings is so hard.
Not because I don’t have them.
Because once I open that door, I’m afraid everything I’ve been holding in will come pouring out.
But maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen.
Maybe being strong doesn’t mean carrying everything in silence.
Maybe being strong is finally saying, “This is hard.”
And maybe… just maybe… that’s where my healing starts.
My dwelling point:
“I didn’t cry because I was talking about my mom. I cried because, for the first time in a long time, I admitted how much I still need her.”
I am not ok but I will be 🖤💋
Leave a Reply