I have become fluent
in two words.
“I’m okay.”
They leave my mouth so easily
they almost sound like truth.
I say them
because they are easier than explaining
that my chest feels too heavy
for lungs that keep insisting on breathing.
Because I don’t know where to begin.
Because I don’t want to become
someone else’s burden.
Because if I tell you everything,
I might finally have to admit it to myself.
So I smile.
I laugh at the right moments.
I carry groceries,
fold laundry,
answer messages,
make coffee,
kiss babies goodnight.
And somewhere between all of it,
I disappear.
The strangest part
is that sometimes
“I’m okay”
isn’t a lie.
It’s a wish.
A quiet prayer wrapped in ordinary words.
A hope that maybe
if I say it enough times,
my heart will believe me.
But sometimes…
sometimes I say it
because I hope you’ll stop me.
I hope you’ll look at me
a second longer than everyone else.
I hope you’ll notice
that my smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
That my voice shakes.
That exhaustion has settled into my bones.
I hope you’ll pull me into your arms
and whisper,
“No…
you’re not.”
Not because you want me broken.
But because you saw me.
Because for one impossible moment,
I didn’t have to carry the weight alone.
There is a kind of healing
that doesn’t come from advice.
Not from fixing.
Not from telling someone they’ll be okay.
It comes from sitting beside them
while they aren’t.
From holding the silence.
From believing the tears
they tried so hard to hide.
We’ve built a world
where strength is measured
by how well we pretend.
Where survival wears makeup.
Where heartbreak goes to work.
Where grief packs school lunches.
Where depression answers,
“I’m fine.”
And everyone nods
because it’s easier
than asking twice.
But maybe strength
has never lived
inside the mask.
Maybe strength
is letting someone see
the cracks.
Maybe courage
is saying,
“I’m not okay today.”
And maybe love
is answering,
“You don’t have to be.”
So the next time someone tells you
they’re okay,
listen with more than your ears.
Watch their eyes.
Hear the silence
between the words.
Because sometimes
“I’m okay”
is the loneliest sentence
a person will ever speak.
And sometimes,
all they’re really asking is—
Please see me.
Please stay.
Please remind me
that I don’t have to survive this alone.
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