A conversation between Me (now) and the version of Me that used to overshare
Old Me:
You used to tell them everything. Every little feeling.
Me:
I know. I thought if I gave it all, they’d stay.
Old Me:
And did they?
Me:
No.
They just learned how to use my softness as a shortcut.
Old Me:
So you stopped?
Me:
I started choosing peace over performance.
Old Me:
Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?
Me:
It does.
But at least I’m not constantly explaining the parts of me that shouldn’t need defending.
Old Me:
You were never wrong for feeling deeply.
Me:
I know.
But I was wrong for handing that depth to people who weren’t ready to hold it.
Old Me:
So what do you do with those feelings now?
Me:
I write.
I walk.
I sit with them until they quiet down.
I don’t broadcast them.
Old Me:
Not even to the ones who love you?
Me:
Only to the ones who notice the silence before I speak.
Old Me:
So, you’re protecting yourself.
Me:
I’m preserving what’s real.
Not everything sacred needs an audience.
Old Me:
Do you miss the girl who overshared?
Me:
I miss how hopeful she was.
But I love how whole I am now.
Old Me:
Do you still believe in being known?
Me:
Yes.
I just no longer fear being misunderstood.
Old Me:
So silence became your language?
Me:
Silence became my sanctuary.
Old Me:
That’s… beautiful.
Me:
It’s survival.
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Alisson Steffens On Unsplash
