You’re suffocating, but no one knows. It’s like you’re living in a constant state of tension, holding your breath just a little too long, but you can’t let it out. Inside, it feels like a fire’s been set to everything you are. Every frustration, every ounce of exhaustion, every little fear that keeps creeping in when you can’t push it down any longer. But when you show up for work, when you have to face the world, you throw on that mask. Smile wide. Eyes bright, even though your soul feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You say, I’m fine, and you mean it, even though you’re anything but.

At work, it’s worse. It’s the place where you can’t afford to break. Your emails are polished, your meetings run smoothly, your to-do list gets ticked off with mechanical precision. No one notices that your hands shake when you write an email, that your mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to keep the noise at bay. No one sees that the only thing keeping you going is sheer willpower, fighting to stay present in a world that feels too overwhelming. You smile, you laugh, you make small talk and no one thinks anything of it.

Every day is a game of survival. You act like you’ve got it all under control, even though you’re running on fumes. The emails come in, the tasks pile up, and the day lingers like a quiet storm. Your boss asks how you’re doing, and you say, good, but you know you’re not. You’re too tired. Too drained. But you smile and nod, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, like everything is running smoothly.

And the whole time, inside, it’s a war. You’re fighting against the tide, pushing against the pressure. You don’t have time to deal with the crack in your heart, the one that’s only growing wider with every passing day. You can’t let the frustration show. You can’t show that you’re crumbling. You can’t show that every ounce of your being is screaming for relief, for a moment of peace. You can’t even find the time to breathe.

Because if you let your guard down, even for a second, they’ll see it. They’ll see the cracks. They’ll know that you’re not fine. They might offer you sympathy, and that’s the last thing you want. No one wants to be pitied. You don’t want anyone to think that you’re not capable of handling your own life. So, you keep faking it. You keep up the charade that everything’s under control, that you’ve got this, while all you really want is to scream, to throw your hands up and walk away from it all.

But you can’t. You have bills to pay, a house to take care of, a husband to make happy, a reputation to maintain. So you keep going, you keep pretending. You put on that mask every damn morning, and you make it through the day one task at a time, hoping no one sees the mess behind your eyes. The panic that rises in your chest when no one’s looking. The way your heart races when the day is finally over, and you’re alone, surrounded by the quiet, the emptiness of it all.

And then, in the dead of night, when the world is still, the screams come. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, but loud enough for you to feel them, deep in your bones. The pain. The exhaustion. The endless cycle of pretending. But no one knows. No one sees it. They all think you’re fine, because you’ve spent so long pretending that it’s become your reality.

And so, you go through it all again the next day. You smile. You pretend. You push the chaos back down. Because if you don’t, everything might just come crashing down, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.