Understanding the Weight I Never Spoke About

There are parts of my emotional life I kept locked away for years - not because they were resolved, but because I never knew how to carry them in the open. Some of that weight is anger I swallowed instead of expressing, pain I dismissed because naming it felt too vulnerable, and exhaustion I learned to hide behind composure. None of it vanished. It simply settled deeper, shaping the way I moved through the world while I pretended I was fine.

I’ve realised that the weight we don’t speak about becomes louder in silence. It slips into our reactions, our relationships, our fears. Psychology helped me understand that my patterns - withdrawing when I’m overwhelmed, shutting down when I feel dismissed, forcing myself to be strong even when something inside me is breaking - were not random. They were survival instincts built in moments I never processed, moments I carried alone for far too long.

When I finally started paying attention, I didn’t find clarity; I found more noise. Old memories resurfacing without invitation. Frustration at myself for reacting the same way again. Anger that I had never been taught how to cope with any of it. But even then, acknowledging the chaos felt like a step forward. Every reaction has a story, even the ones I wish I could rewrite.

This process is not comfortable. It is slow and messy. Some days I look at my patterns with patience, and on other days I resent them. I resent the heaviness I still feel in my chest, the fear that rises too fast, the instinct to retreat even when I want connection. But I’m learning that discomfort is part of understanding. That pain is not a failure. That anger is often a sign of something inside me finally refusing to stay quiet.

Nothing about this journey feels complete. I am not healed; I am trying. And trying, in itself, is a form of movement. When I name my weight, even imperfectly, it loosens its grip. When I speak instead of swallowing my feelings, something small shifts. When I allow myself to feel instead of fearing the feeling, the world becomes slightly less heavy.

This is not about erasing the past. It is about recognising how deeply it still lives in me - and choosing, piece by piece, to understand it rather than let it control me.

This is an attempt. A beginning.

And for now, that is enough.