I Don’t Want to Be Easy to Love Anymore

[ad_1]

You Can’t Heal in the Same Place You Keep Performing

There’s a version of me that’s really good at seeming okay.

Like… scary good.

Good at laughing at the right moments. Good at saying “it’s all good” when it’s not. Good at convincing people and sometimes myself that I’m fine, that I’ve moved on, that things don’t get to me like they used to.

But if I’m honest? That version of me is exhausted.

Because pretending you’re okay is a full-time job. And it doesn’t even pay well. It just pays in numbness and late-night overthinking.

I used to think being strong meant staying quiet. Not needing anything. Not asking for too much. Not rocking the boat. I thought if I could just be “low maintenance” enough, I’d finally be easy to love.

(Which is a crazy thing to believe, by the way.)

So I swallowed a lot. Feelings. Words. Needs. Whole versions of myself.

And I called it maturity.

But there’s a special kind of tired that comes from constantly editing yourself. From always asking, “Is this too much?” before you ask, “Is this even true for me?”

At some point you realize you’re not protecting the relationship. You’re just slowly disappearing inside it.

And the worst part? You don’t even notice it happening. It feels responsible. It feels grown. It feels like you’re being the bigger person.

Until one day you catch yourself alone, staring at the ceiling, and you think,

“When did I become a guest in my own life?”

Lately, I’ve been trying something different. Not being loud. Not being dramatic. Just… being honest.

Saying, “That hurt.”

Saying, “I actually want more.”

Saying, “I’m not okay with this,” without immediately following it with, “But it’s fine, don’t worry.”

And yeah. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it changes things. Sometimes it makes people step back instead of closer.

But here’s what I’m learning: anything that only works when you’re silent was never really working.

Clarity might cost you some people.

But self-betrayal costs you yourself.