I used to think I just wasn't the type of person who cried. for years, I thought maybe nothing in this world had hurt me enough yet. maybe I was simply too calm for that or too logical or too self-aware. I saw people crying in front of others so naturally and always thought, "I could never do that."

but recently I realized something. I actually can cry just fine but I just need to be alone first. once I realized this, it felt heavier than I expected. because it means the problem was never whether I felt things deeply enough. it was the fact that I cannot stand being perceived while feeling them. the second another person witnesses my sadness, I immediately feel exposed. almost embarrassed. like I failed at holding myself together properly (which explains so many things about me that I never understood before, especially the way I love).

when I started dating someone I truly cared about, I became such a thinker. I questioned everything in my own head before saying it out loud, measured my reactions too much. sometimes even my sadness had to pass through some kind of internal filter before I allowed it to exist.

but the funny thing is, I don't even want to be seen as cold or dominant or overly strong all the time. that's not who I want to be. I actually want to feel safe enough to soften around someone. I want to stop sounding okay before I truly am. but vulnerability feels so difficult when your instinct is always to survive things quietly. I think I became too familiar with the idea that emotions should be handled privately. like cleaning your room before guests arrive. you can be messy, just make sure nobody sees it directly. so I became good at appearing composed.

sometimes I envy people who can immediately cry when they're hurt. there's something honest about it. meanwhile I need hours, sometimes days, before my emotions fully reach the surface. and usually by then, I'm already alone in my room staring at the ceiling at 1 a.m. trying not to make any sound.

I think that's also why I struggle around incompetent people sometimes. it sounds harsh, I know. but maybe when you spend most of your life trying so hard not to fall apart publicly, you unconsciously expect everyone else to hold themselves together too. maybe I became too intolerant toward carelessness because I never gave myself permission to be careless either.

I know, please forgive me, but I'm still trying to unlearn that.

I'm still trying to understand that being vulnerable does not automatically make me weak. that crying in front of another person is not something shameful. and that needing comfort does not mean I failed at being strong.

because deep down, I think I'm actually softer than people think I am. softer than I allow myself to be. sometimes I almost open up, then suddenly I hear my own thoughts telling me to stay composed. so I laugh a little, change the topic, and pretend the feeling was never that serious to begin with.

and maybe that's the exhausting part about always trying to stay emotionally composed. after a while, you don't even realize you're doing it anymore. you automatically hide the ugly parts before anyone gets the chance to see them.

and I wonder, for probably the hundredth time, what it feels like to fully relax around another person. to say "I'm scared" without trying to make it sound smaller or more reasonable first. I wonder what it feels like to stop guarding every soft part of myself so carefully. to stop feeling ashamed of being seen exactly as I am.

I still don't know how to do that, though. (even now, writing this feels slightly uncomfortable. part of me wants to backspace half these paragraphs before anyone reads them).