Too Much? Good. / 16

Thoughts from the edge of a breakdown (and maybe a breakthrough).

My fingers hover over the letters.
As I exhale sharply, I slowly type them out. But my fingers twitch as I contemplate whether I should press send.

I have always been envious of those who wear their hearts on their sleeves. They are unafraid to show their true feelings and say what they feel.

I, on the contrary, don’t like being vulnerable. So, I replace honesty with being snarky. I dislike showing my emotions—as if on display for everyone to see and comment on. So, I reply in monosyllables.

Emotions are something I don’t show, something I keep buried—something I fear may be my undoing.

And yet, there’s a part of me that longs to be seen.
Seen fully. Talked to. Figured out without having to spell out the storm that rages in my mind and heart.

But my chest has been cracked open recently. I’m exhausted from living a life where I’m constantly walking on eggshells around others—afraid of upsetting someone unknowingly or being the reason behind their frustration.

I grew up witnessing so much anxiety over the smallest things that I’ve spent years in a perpetual fight-or-flight response, inadvertently imbibing the ways of my anxious family members. While it’s too late to change their responses, I can only work on myself.

I want people to like me for who I am.
And if they don’t—well, they don’t. But more importantly, I want to like myself for who I am. Not the version I wish I could be.
And I do.

But I can always strive to be a better version of myself, can’t I?

It’s a constant work in progress. A push and pull between two parts of my brain.
A ceaseless battle in my mind.

Some days, it feels like my brain has split into two—the one that wants to be honest, nonchalant, go with the flow, and live life with (sometimes reckless) abandon, and the one that wants to stay silent, cook up hypothetical situations and conversations, and be stretched like spaghetti as it falls into the black hole of negative thoughts.

I’ve felt the urge to be honest, unafraid of others’ judgement. And these days I’ve started to be, albeit slowly. I often fake it. But, at times, certain things have to be said and expressed, despite my stubbornness to keep quiet and remove myself from the equation—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

So, I shall fake it until I make it. And it has been working to a great extent, because I reckon this is who I am—who I always was. I just didn’t know how and when to express myself. Now that I’m consciously asking myself to speak up and share my true thoughts, life has been better.

The things you’re most afraid of aren’t that difficult, it seems!

I’ll be honest—writing this wasn’t easy. I feared (and still do): what if someone from my family reads it? What if they look at me differently? What if they judge me and make offhand comments? What if they get worried about me? And it took all my strength not to ponder what they’ll think. But I’ve started to be a tad selfish—some days, it’s not about them; it’s about me, too.

Books and K-Dramas are my soft place to fall.

I use books and K-Dramas to feel. I uninhibitedly cry, laugh, and feel despair for the characters, as if I am living their lives. One day, while watching When Life Gives You Tangerines, I sobbed continuously for half an hour (I was also on the last dregs of red wine). I was reliving all my past troubles and fears, and remembering people who aren’t here anymore. I openly shed tears for characters in books, thinking that doing so is acceptable—at least I’m showing emotions for the adversities happening in a fictional character’s life, not lamenting over mine.

I am sharing a vulnerable piece of my heart with you—not only for myself, to set myself free in the only way I know how, but for you too.

This is for those who think they don’t feel seen, even by those closest to them—whether you’re the eldest daughter who does things for their family and is still considered selfish, the friend who doesn’t show emotion when your mate is going through a break-up and instead comforts them with an awkward pat on the back, the family therapist who’s seeking actual therapy, or everyone’s punching bag.

I see you. I hear you. I am you.

(Be too much, express your feelings, fight for yourself, and be loud!)

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That’s all from me this Saturday! If this resonated with you, feel free to reply—I always read your messages.

Have a fabulous weekend.

Cheers!