Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
You consume most of the contents in your fridge when you feel the heaviness of grief.
You failed an important exam. Five times.
You go to work with a smile on your face after an hour of crying in your car.
You went through a bankruptcy. You are going through a bankruptcy.
You started drawing to soothe the pain. But sometimes there’s just so much of it.
You’re seeing a psychologist—something you never thought you’d do—because life feels too confusing right now.
You crashed your car into a pole after too many glasses of wine.
You haven’t had a drink in years, and you worry that others will find you boring.
You’re struggling with postpartum depression, and fear that it makes you a horrible mom. (It doesn’t.)
You keep saying the wrong thing.
You are sensitive to loud noises, to criticism, to crowds, bright lights, and the sensations inside your body. You remember the words that were thrown at you months and years ago. And you worry that all of that makes you weak. (It doesn’t.)
You got fired. Again.
You weren’t there for someone like you wish you would’ve been.
There are days when everything feels hard.
You didn’t tell your parent how much you loved them during their final days. Instead, you buried yourself in work, denial and meaningless details. A pattern you’ve sewn throughout the years.
It took you too many years to leave an abusive relationship. You blame yourself for not leaving sooner, for continuously going back.
Most days you feel like a mess, a clumsy, awkward, uncomfortable-in-your-own-skin mess.
Some nights you sit in the dark and eat cookies. And feel empty.
This new place, this new job, this new life isn’t what you thought it would be.
You want to take back so many bad decisions.
That experience, the experience everyone thinks you’re totally over, still hurts. A lot.
Lately, your life hasn’t been all that rosy, and wearing all that armor is making you capsize.
These are the stories we hide deep within us. Your stories may have different plots. But you hide them nonetheless. You hide them because of shame, embarrassment, insecurity, self-doubt, anxiety, fear. Because you think these stories define you. You think they make you a fool, a failure, a monster. Alone.
These are the stories we don’t tell anyone. But maybe it’s time we do—to the people we can trust to keep them safe, with compassion and without judgment. To the person who says, I’m here. Whatever you need. And I hear you. I really hear you. To the person who appreciates your honesty and humanity.
And we can do this for others, too. We can be there to witness their vulnerable stories, without looking away.
