You ever just sit in silence, not because you have nothing to say, but because everything you want to say would probably set the world on fire?
Yeah. That’s me right now.
I have nothing appropriate to say!!!!!!
Not one word that fits inside the neatly labeled box of “acceptable.” Not one thought that’s been pre-sanitized for polite company. My feelings are too loud, too messy, too real. So instead of smiling and nodding, instead of pretending to be okay when I’m not—I say nothing. Because if I open my mouth, I don’t know what might come out.
Anger?
Sarcasm?
A truth no one’s ready to hear?
Sometimes silence is the loudest scream. And today, it’s screaming: I’m tired of pretending.
I’ve sat through too many moments with my lips pressed shut, heart pounding, thoughts racing, just to maintain some version of peace that doesn’t even exist. Just to be the “bigger person,” the “well-behaved adult,” the “calm voice in the storm.” But inside? Chaos. Fire. Words building like thunder, demanding release.
But we’re not supposed to talk like that, right? Not supposed to say what we really feel. Not supposed to explode. Not supposed to be inconvenient, emotional, angry, or—God forbid—imperfect. So we filter, we soften, we hold back. And that’s supposed to be maturity. That’s supposed to be strength.
Well, today, strength looks like admitting I’ve hit a wall.
I don’t have the right thing to say.
I have the real thing to say.
And it’s this:
I’m tired of fake smiles.
I’m tired of pretending I’m fine.
I’m tired of playing nice when everything inside me is boiling.
I’m tired of minimizing my own experience just to make other people more comfortable.
Because guess what? Sometimes people don’t deserve your silence.
Sometimes they deserve to hear just how much damage they’ve done.
Sometimes the “inappropriate” thing is the honest thing.
But we hesitate.
We hesitate because we’ve been trained to “keep the peace,” even when it’s breaking us.
We hesitate because we’ve been told that speaking truth makes us difficult, dramatic, emotional, or too much.
Too much?
No. I’m not too much. I’ve just been holding too much.
And I’ve finally reached the point where my filter is malfunctioning.
I’ve reached the point where I’m staring at someone thinking: You don’t deserve my grace right now.
You don’t deserve the neat, polite version of the story. You deserve the raw truth, the full mess, the uncensored reaction.
But of course, I won’t say it. Not yet.
Because the world isn’t kind to people who speak before they edit. The world is far more forgiving to silence than it is to emotional honesty. So I sit here, biting my tongue, telling myself, “Not now. Not yet. Breathe.” But inside? I’m already writing the speech I’ll never deliver.
And it sounds something like this:
“Hey. Just so you know, I’m not okay. And I don’t owe you ‘okay’ just because it’s convenient. I don’t owe you softness while I’m unraveling. I don’t owe you my silence while you keep crossing lines and pretending not to notice. I’m not here to be polite. I’m here to be real. And real isn’t always pretty. Real is messy. Real is explosive. Real doesn’t ask for permission to exist.”
But instead, all I say out loud is, “It’s fine.”
Because that’s what we do, right? We say “It’s fine” when it’s not.
We say “I’m okay” when we’re screaming inside.
We laugh it off, play it down, brush it under the rug.
Until one day, you crack. And suddenly, even silence feels like shouting.
So if you see me today, and I’m quiet, don’t assume it’s peace.
It might be exhaustion. It might be restraint. It might be the sound of every word I want to say crashing into the back of my throat.
It’s not that I have nothing to say.
It’s that I have nothing “appropriate” left.
I’m done dressing up my rage in a cute outfit.
I’m done turning pain into a punchline.
I’m done translating myself into something more palatable.
Some days you’re soft. Some days you’re strong.
And some days you’re just trying not to completely lose it.
Today is that kind of day.
So if I’m quiet, give me space.
If I seem off, don’t push.
And if I eventually do speak?
Brace yourself.
Because the truth is coming. Unedited. Unapologetic. Undeniably mine.
And maybe—just maybe—it’s okay to have nothing “appropriate” to say.
Maybe the most honest, most healing thing we can do is stop performing and start feeling.
Start screaming. Start crying. Start being real.
Because underneath all that silence, underneath all that restraint…
Is a voice that’s tired of being polite.
A soul that’s tired of hiding.
A heart that’s ready to speak its truth.
Even if it comes out messy.
Even if it comes out loud.
Even if it starts with nothing but—
I HAVE NOTHING APPROPRIATE TO SAY!!!!!!
