A Fragile Kind of Strong

People often called me brave and strong.
My parents, My closest friends, even those who barely knew me.
And every time, it felt good. strangely good.
Because to me, that compliment always meant far more than being called beautiful or pretty.

But each time, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.
Because they never really knew me.

The truth was I had always been afraid.
Afraid of everything and everyone.
I never showed it, and I never intended to. I refused to let anyone sense it.

There was a time when I used to stay up late, simply because I was terrified of facing a new day.
When my thoughts grew too heavy, I felt weak, so weak that the weight of overthinking made me sick, and sometimes, I would quietly take a pill just to escape into sleep.

Nothing shattered me more than the look of disappointment in my parents’ eyes.

That silent kind of disappointment that didn’t need words but just eyes that could pierce straight through me.
And there I stood, My hands clenched, eyes fixed on the floor and too afraid to meet their gaze.

But with time, I realized something profound that strength wasn’t about what one felt.
It was about what one chose to do despite those feelings.

If you are willing to fight back, you are strong.
If the world stood against you and you kept going anyway, you are strong.
If you tried to change, not for validation, but out of love.
for yourself or for people you love, that too was strength.

I was strong, even when I didn’t feel it.
And so are you :)