Why Healing Beats Hiding Every Time: Your Mask Is Heavier Than Your Wounds
So picture this: I’m sitting in my car outside a friend’s apartment, doing that pathetic “I’m fine” breathing ritual—deep inhale, fake composure, lie through your teeth. I’d been doing it for years. Hiding every crack like it was part of my morning routine.
Someone asked me earlier that week: “Why do you act like you’re okay when you clearly aren’t?”
That question punched me straight in the ribs.
Because the truth is, hiding felt safer. It felt like armor. But really? It was a cage I decorated.
I hid because I didn’t want to be a burden.
I hid because I thought pain made me weak.
I hid because I didn’t trust anyone to stay.
But the hiding didn’t protect me—it exhausted me. It made everything heavier, sharper, more impossible to carry.
Then one night, sitting in that stupid car, I said the quietest “I’m not okay” to myself. And it was like opening a window in a room I didn’t realize was suffocating me.
Healing didn’t start with some magical breakthrough or perfectly timed epiphany. It started with honesty—one brutally simple moment where I chose to stop pretending I was unbreakable.
And weirdly? That honesty felt like strength. Real strength. Not the pretend “I’m fine” kind.
That’s what healing over hiding means.
Not that healing is easy. Not that healing is linear.
But that hiding hurts more.
It’s choosing to show your wounds instead of swallowing them.
It’s choosing breath instead of bottled-up breakdowns.
It’s choosing to walk out of the dark room you built to protect yourself.
And the wild part? When you stop hiding, you realize how many people are waiting to meet the real you—not the mask.
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Why This Reminder Matters
Because so many of us are out here performing “okay” like it’s a degree we earned.
Because pain doesn’t disappear just because we shove it deeper.
Because healing isn’t a luxury—it’s survival.
Choosing healing over hiding means choosing your life back, piece by piece.
Wear it. Remember it. Practice it.