I wasn’t born with a broken heart… but life made cracks early. I was just a child when the world showed me how cruel it could be. Too young to understand why I suddenly felt unsafe in my own skin. Too young to know that some wounds don’t bleed, but they change you forever. I grew up smiling, but I learned quickly that my smile could be a mask. I laughed when I wanted to cry. I said “I’m fine” when I was breaking inside. And I built walls, not because I wanted to shut people out, but because I needed somewhere to hide. The truth? I’ve been carrying pain for so long that it feels like part of me now. Pain from things I never deserved. Pain from people who swore they loved me but didn’t know how to stay. Pain from watching people change into strangers right before my eyes. And yet… here I am. I’ve been misunderstood, misjudged, and mislabeled. People think they know me, but they only see the version I allow them to see. They don’t know the nights I’ve cried into my pillow so no one would hear. They don’t know how many times I’ve asked God “why me?” and got silence in return. But I’m still here. I’m still breathing. I’m still choosing to live, even when life feels heavy. Maybe one day, people will understand that I’m not quiet because I have nothing to say. I’m quiet because the things I’ve been through don’t fit neatly into small talk. My silence is not emptiness, it’s survival. So if you’ve ever felt unseen… if you’ve ever been broken by people who swore they’d never hurt you… if you’ve ever had to heal from things you can’t talk about, just know, I understand. Because I’ve been there. And I’m still standing. ❤️