I’ve noticed something about myself that’s hard to admit out loud especially when people already call me “too emotional,” or say I feel too deeply, or that I’m always “trying to make everything about me.” But this truth keeps rising to the surface, and I think it’s time I stopped pushing it back down.
Somewhere along the line, I became the person who puts myself on hold every time someone else hits play. I watch others chase dreams, take chances, leap fearlessly into what they want and the second I start moving toward something for myself, I stop. I pivot. I redirect. I become the helper, the cheerleader, the steady one who never asks for anything in return. I give 100% to their goals, even while quietly abandoning my own.
And it builds. Every sacrifice. Every delay. Every dream I shelf because “now’s not the right time.” I tell myself I’ll get back to it. But somehow, the right time never comes. And in the meantime, I’ve gotten really good at clapping for others while my own hands stay empty.
I’ve started to ask myself the uncomfortable question: Did childhood teach me this?
Was I trained to believe that my needs were inconvenient? That my voice was too loud, my dreams too much, my heart too tender?
Because when I trace the pattern back, I see a little girl who learned how to make herself smaller to keep the peace. Who picked up the pieces so others wouldn’t have to. Who clung to validation like oxygen, even if it meant losing her sense of self in the process.
And now, as a grown woman, I still struggle to believe I’m allowed to take up space.
Is it okay to be seen, really seen?
Is it okay to be heard, even if my words shake?
Is it okay to say, I matter too and not feel selfish for doing so?
The world doesn’t always make room for people like me. Sensitive. Reflective. Raw. Sharing these thoughts often backfires. People roll their eyes or pull away. They call me needy or dramatic or say I think too much. But maybe I have to think this much because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll forget who I am underneath all the masks I wear for everyone else.
And truthfully, it gets lonely this place between always being there for others and rarely feeling like anyone shows up for me the same way.
How many dreams have I buried beneath someone else’s progress?
How many times have I changed direction so someone else could have a clear path forward?
How many times have I whispered, “Maybe next year,” to myself while screaming, “You’ve got this!” for someone else?
Lately, I’ve started to wonder where I belong in this narrative I keep writing for everyone but me.
Maybe the hardest truth of all is this:
I’ve become a background character in my own life story.
And I don’t want to be anymore.
Not because I need to be center stage.
Not because I need applause.
But because I want to know what it feels like to matter not for what I can give, or how well I support but simply because I exist.
Maybe it’s time I stop waiting for someone else to hand me permission.
Maybe it’s time I stop pausing.
Maybe it’s time I press play.
-Masked Mom
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