It’s noticing the shift in someone’s tone before they even realize they changed it. It’s replaying a look, a silence, or a sigh long after everyone else has moved on. It’s carrying things that were never yours to carry, and yet somehow believing they are. This is what emotional hypersensitivity feels like. And here’s the …
Nobody warns you how ruthless change can be. It doesn’t knock. It barges in. Sometimes it wrecks everything first — the plans you made, the people you counted on, the identity you wore like a second skin. You don’t always choose the shift. Sometimes it chooses you. It happens in the silence after betrayal. In …
How long have you been holding your breath, waiting for them to come around? Waiting for the message, the call, the words that would make it right. I’m sorry. Two words that could have healed so much — but they never came. Here’s the hardest truth: they might never come. Not because your pain didn’t …
You think you hate me. But you don’t. You cling to me. I’m the weight on your chest when the world says, go. I’m the voice that tells you, stay right where you are. I am not laziness. I am not fear. I’m older than that. I’ve been growing inside you with every broken promise …
To be human is to ache and to long. It is to carry contradictions: strength and softness, faith and doubt, brilliance and brokenness — sometimes all at once. It’s waking up hopeful, and by evening, questioning everything. It’s loving people who may never love us the same way back. It’s fighting for dreams we sometimes …
There’s a strange kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show on your face. It’s not loud. It doesn’t cry in public. It just sits there — quietly — in your chest. Heavy. Like you’re breathing through wet cotton. You’re not falling apart exactly. But you’re not okay either. You’re just… still standing. Barely. Sometimes, that’s what …
Some days, it just hits. Not like a storm, not like a crash. But like a quiet undoing. You’re lying there. Not really crying. Not really sleeping. Just… drained. Done. There’s this weight in your chest, but you’re too tired to name it. You try to trace what exactly is wrong, but your brain can’t …
There’s this thing that happens. When someone hurts you—really hurts you— it’s not always sadness that shows up first. Sometimes, it’s fire. This unbearable urge to lash out. To hurt them the way they hurt you. To shake something. Break something. Say that one thing that will land like a slap. And in that moment, …
Sometimes, it starts so quietly, you don’t even realise what’s happening. You begin adjusting. Toning yourself down. Not to deceive—but to connect. To be liked. To be chosen. To not feel so… alone. You say yes when you mean no. You ignore what hurts. You twist yourself into someone easier to accept. And over time, …
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s just that moment when you’re saying something and they look away. Or change the subject. Or act like you’re taking too long. And you notice. Even if you pretend not to. You feel yourself pull back. You don’t mean to. It just happens. A small part of you shuts …