Holy Mess, Whole Me

It feels like I’ve spent a lot of my life bracing for disagreement. Not ALWAYS in loud, obvious ways, although there were quite a few of those too—but also in the small, subtle ways that wear you down over time.

In social settings, I’m often on edge, scanning for cues, waiting for the moment someone says something that feels like a landmine. I mean in the times we live in, who can really blame me right? The problem is these settings aren’t the ones I should be feeling on edge in. They are the settings where I’m with the people who claim they know and love me best. And yet… Sometimes I feel myself shrinking mid-conversation—stuffing my thoughts and feelings deep down just to keep the peace, to avoid that uncomfortable moment when disagreement turns into disconnection.

I’ll smile, nod, change the subject, appear to agree I’ll keep quiet even when my insides are screaming. And outwardly, it looks like I’m fine. Calm. Kind. Easygoing. But inside, I’m holding back a storm. And eventually—when the event is over, when the people are gone, when I’m back in the safety of my own home—I start to unravel.

That’s when it hits.

The pressure I bottled up all day has to go somewhere. Sometimes I find myself picking a fight with the ones I love the most, not because I’m actually upset with them or with the situation I find myself in, but because I need a release. I need to cry. I need to feel something. And fighting feels easier than admitting I’m overwhelmed, overstimulated, or just emotionally tired from stuffing things down all day.

It’s not fair. And it’s not who I want to be.

I’m learning to recognize these patterns for what they are—signs that I’m not okay, that I’ve stretched myself too thin emotionally, that I need support, not conflict. I’m learning that it’s okay to ask for what I need, even if it’s as simple as, “Can we change the subject?” or “I just need a little space to reset.” Even when it comes with looks of confusion, concern, or even shock because the topic at hand shouldn’t be seen as a landmine, but unfortuantely, a simple discussion of what to do about rearranging the bedroom is the open door I need to bust right through.

The thing is I don’t want to keep hurting the people I love the most just because I haven’t learned how to process what I’m carrying. I don’t want release to always come through rupture. Its not fair to them, its not fair to me, and its not fair to the healing journey we are all on together.

More and more, I’m trying to practice pause. Stepping away. Asking for help. Saying less in the moment so I can say more when I’m ready. And when I do that, I find that the storm inside me starts to lose its edge. And I’ll be honest, it is so very hard. Probably one of the harder things I have ever done in my life.

But you know what, peace doesn’t have to mean silence. And release doesn’t have to come from wreckage. I’m slowly learning how to hold space for myself without turning everything into a fight. And that feels like healing. At least it does today.