This Is Me: The Parts I Don’t Post – Part I

There are two sides to me: the one I show the world, and the one I sit with in the quiet. The deep, raw, unfiltered self I’m still learning to fully hold. This post is about both.

Not just the version of me that’s strong and kind and thoughtful, but the one that overgives, overthinks, shuts down, lashes out, and stays too long where I’m emotionally starving.

This is me, without the mask. The full, uncut version.

The Deep Side of Me

I’m not here to float on the surface of life, I never have been. I want truth, not noise. I want a connection that cuts through the chaos. I want to feel something real.

I crave depth, not just in others, but within myself. I want to understand everything: the why behind the silence, the weight behind the words, the energy behind the masks people wear. I don’t just observe life, I absorb it. People. Emotions. Spaces. Pain. Joy. I carry it all in my nervous system like a second skin.

I live in constant dialogue with my own mind. I don’t just think, I reflect. I turn every interaction over in my head until I understand it or make peace with not understanding. I don’t seek drama. I seek clarity. Because chaos triggers something primal in me, the old wounds of being misunderstood, of not being emotionally safe.

That’s what I want more than anything: emotional safety. A space where I don’t have to defend my softness, explain my empathy, or dilute my intensity to be accepted. And that goes in any kind of relationship.

I have a deep need to feel seen (truly seen), not for how I perform or what I give, but for who I am when the armor comes off.
I want the kind of connection that holds presence even in silence, where my words aren’t misread and my needs aren’t dismissed as demands.

I’m not passive about my growth. I dissect myself constantly. I look at my flaws, my triggers, my shadows… not to shame them, but to understand them. I don’t want to be perfect. I want to be aware. To be in a relationship with myself that’s honest, forgiving, and ever-evolving.

I love deeply. I protect fiercely. And I give more than I should, not because I’m weak, but because I know what it feels like to be emotionally starved and still hope for softness.

I speak the language of emotion fluently, and sometimes that makes me feel like an alien in a world full of surface talk and emotional avoidance. But I wouldn’t trade it. My depth is not a curse. It’s my compass.

I may be quiet, but my inner world is anything but silent. It’s where truth echoes, wounds whisper, and healing happens.

This is me. Unapologetically deep. Not always easy to love, but impossible to fake.

I reflect constantly. I self-analyze. I’m not afraid to ask hard questions like:

• Was I the problem?
• Did I hurt someone?
• Am I being too much?
• Am I tolerating too little?

I don’t want to stay the same. I want to evolve, even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.

I am sensitive, yes, but not fragile. There’s a difference.

People confuse the two all the time. They hear “sensitive” and think I’ll break at the first sign of struggle. That I’m weak, dramatic, or incapable of handling conflict.

But sensitivity isn’t fragility. It’s awareness.

I don’t cry because I can’t handle pain; I cry because I let myself feel it fully. I don’t walk away from toxic people because I’m too weak to fight; I walk away because I won’t betray my peace to win a battle that poisons me. I notice tone, energy shifts, the silence between words, not because I’m paranoid, but because I’m attuned.

That sensitivity? It’s a gift. A superpower.
I can walk into a room and feel tension before a single word is spoken. I can sense when someone’s lying to themselves. I can tell when someone’s apologizing with their mouth but not their heart.

I don’t crumble easily. I endure a lot before I break. And when I do break, I don’t stay broken, I rebuild with more clarity and less tolerance for bullshit.

So no, I’m not fragile. I’m not made of glass.

I’m made of saltwater, stardust, and fire.
Soft on the outside, but forged in things most people wouldn’t survive.
My softness is intentional. My silence is loaded. And my love? It’s sacred. I don’t hand it out easily. But when I do, I go all in.

The Shadow Side of Me

This is the part I don’t talk about as much. Not because I’m ashamed, but because it’s hard to put into words. Hard to sit with sometimes.

But I’ll say it anyway.

🖤 I overextend myself. Constantly.

I give when I’m empty. I explain myself to people who never listen. I try to earn love I should’ve walked away from. I give people the benefit of the doubt until I’m left in pieces, wondering why I wasn’t enough.

🖤 I expect depth from people who live in the shallow end.

And then I get hurt when they can’t meet me where I am. I take it personally when, really, they just don’t have the range. I’m playing emotional chess with people still learning the alphabet.

🖤 I ruminate instead of releasing.

I replay moments. Conversations. Silences. I try to make sense of things that were never mine to fix. I stay stuck in loops, trying to understand what should’ve been let go.

🖤 I turn my independence into isolation.

I don’t like relying on anyone. I pride myself on being strong, sometimes too much. I bottle things up. I retreat when I feel misunderstood. And the truth is, I get lonely, even in my own fortress. But don’t get me wrong. I enjoy my solitude; it nourishes me. But I still get lonely around people who lack emotional intelligence. There’s nothing more isolating than being surrounded by others and still feeling unseen.

🖤 I expect unspoken understanding and get resentful when it doesn’t happen.

Because I notice everything — the shifts, the silences, the subtext — I sometimes expect others to just know what I need. But they don’t. And when I have to explain things I thought were obvious, I feel disappointed… or worse, disconnected. But not everyone reads emotional energy the way I do.

🖤 I can be sharp. Especially when I’m hurt.

I know how to cut with words. I don’t always mean to, but when I’ve had enough, I snap. I’ve stayed quiet too long in the past, so when I finally speak up, it comes out like a blade. And sometimes, I regret it. Even if it was deserved.

🖤 I stay too long.

I try to be fair. To see the best in people. I hold on, hoping someone will grow. That they’ll change. That they’ll finally get it. But truthfully? I’ve betrayed myself more than once by refusing to walk away.

But Here’s the Thing…

My flaws are just my strengths pushed too far.

My empathy becomes self-abandonment.
My passion becomes intensity.
My boundaries become walls.
My truth becomes fire.

I’m learning to balance. To breathe. To pause.

To stop giving so much of myself to people who offer nothing but confusion.
To stop explaining my worth like it’s up for debate.
To stop holding on to the idea of someone when the reality is hurting me.

I’m learning to choose me faster. To protect my peace, not just fight for it.

This Is Who I Am

I’m deep. I’m honest. I’m imperfect.
I’m sensitive and sharp. Soft and fierce. Open and guarded.
I’m a paradox, but I make sense.

And I’m not here to be palatable. I’m here to be real.

So if you ever meet someone like me, someone who feels more, asks more, expects more: don’t tell them they’re too much.

Tell them thank you… for still showing up in a world that taught them not to.

P.S.: I added a new page on the blog. Please read the Disclaimer page with care ♥

Photo by Felicia Buitenwerf on Unsplash