Things We Don’t Say Out Loud in Our 20s

EPISODE 1: I Look Fine on the Outside — So I Suffered in Silence

There is a strange kind of loneliness in being the person everyone thinks is fine.

You don’t have to say that you’re struggling for people to assume you’re not. Sometimes all it takes is continuing to show up.

You go to work. You answer people. You finish what needs to be done. You smile. You laugh. You carry on.

And because you do all of that, people think you must be okay.

Maybe that’s what hurts the most.

People don’t always see suffering unless it is loud. Unless someone is crying in front of everyone, unable to get out of bed, or openly saying, “I’m not okay.”

But what happens when you don’t know how to say it?

What happens when you’re struggling just as much, but you’ve learned how to hide it?

I’m Not Always Quiet

I’m not exactly an introvert.

And I’m not exactly an extrovert either.

It depends on who I’m with.

With the right people, I can talk for hours. I can laugh loudly, be silly, tell stories, and become a completely different version of myself.

But even when I’m talking, there are things I don’t say.

There is a part of me that almost never says exactly what it is feeling in that moment.

And maybe that’s why people misunderstand my silence.

They think I’m quiet because that’s just my nature.

Maybe they think I don’t have much to say.

Maybe they think I’m comfortable keeping things to myself.

But sometimes my silence isn’t because I have nothing to say.

It’s because I don’t know how to say what is actually happening inside me.

I’ve always wished someone could read between those silences.

Not read my mind. Not magically know what I’m feeling.

Just notice that there is something behind the silence, ask me about it, and stay long enough to listen.

There can be a whole conversation happening in my head while I’m sitting quietly in front of someone.

A thousand thoughts.

A feeling I can’t name.

Something that hurt me but doesn’t seem important enough to explain.

Something I’m worried about.

Something I wish someone would ask me about.

And then someone asks:

“What’s wrong?”

And somehow, I still say:

“Nothing.”

Not because nothing is wrong.

Because I don’t know where to begin.

The Strong One

I’ve often wondered what people mean when they call someone strong.

Sometimes it sounds like a compliment.

Sometimes it feels like a responsibility.

“We never worried about you.”

A parent can say that casually. They might even mean it with love. It can sound like pride — you were always capable, you always handled things, we knew you’d be okay.

But sometimes, when you’re the person hearing it, something inside you breaks a little.

Because what sounds like pride can also feel like loneliness.

No one ever wondered if the strong one was tired.

You become so good at carrying things that people stop asking whether the weight is too much.

You learn to manage your emotions.

You learn to solve your own problems.

You learn to keep going.

And eventually, everyone becomes comfortable believing that you’ll manage anyway.

“It’s not a big deal for her. She’ll handle it.”

Maybe I will.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a big deal.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

And it definitely doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish someone would simply notice.

You learn to carry the weight so well that no one thinks to help you set it down.

You become the safe place for everyone else, but sometimes you don’t have one of your own.

What People Don’t See

There have been nights when I cried for hours.

Not because I couldn’t do things.

Not because I had given up.

Sometimes crying was simply the only way I knew how to let everything out.

When you’re carrying a thousand things in your head, you don’t always need someone to solve every one of them.

Sometimes you just need somewhere for all of it to go.

So you cry.

You let the emotions come out.

You let yourself feel exhausted.

And maybe after that, you can breathe a little easier.

Maybe you can wake up the next morning and start again.

For me, crying was never necessarily a sign that I couldn’t handle my life.

Sometimes it was how I handled it.

It was an outburst after holding everything in for too long.

A way of emptying some of the weight before picking myself up again.

But there were also moments when I couldn’t cry.

And strangely, those moments could feel even worse.

You can reach a level of emotion so high that instead of crying, you feel nothing.

You’re overwhelmed, but numb.

You know you should cry.

You want to cry.

But nothing comes.

And somehow, that silence inside you hurts more than the tears.

When Anxiety Becomes Physical

Anxiety isn’t always something you can explain.

Sometimes it is just a thought that won’t stop.

Then another thought.

Then another.

Something is constantly running in the background of your mind.

Even when everything around you is quiet, your mind isn’t.

And sometimes anxiety doesn’t stay inside your head.

It reaches your body.

You start shaking.

Your body reacts before you can even explain what you’re feeling.

And the difficult part is trying to look normal while something inside you feels completely out of control.

Someone might look at you and see the same person they’ve always seen.

They don’t know what’s happening underneath.

They don’t know how much energy it takes to appear okay.

I Didn’t Know How to Say It

I think one of the hardest parts for me was not knowing how to explain what I was feeling.

How do you tell someone you’re overwhelmed when you don’t even know which part is overwhelming you the most?

How do you explain that nothing looks wrong from the outside, but something inside you feels unbearably heavy?

Sometimes I was afraid that if I finally said it out loud, the response would be:

“It’s not that serious.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You always manage.”

And maybe they wouldn’t mean to dismiss me.

Maybe they simply wouldn’t understand.

But when you’re already struggling to find the words, the possibility of being misunderstood can make you choose silence instead.

So you keep it to yourself.

You continue functioning.

And people continue thinking you’re okay.

Behind All That Emotion

Behind the anxiety.

Behind the anger.

Behind the nights spent crying.

Behind the moments when I couldn’t feel anything at all.

There was just a girl who wanted to feel loved.

Not fixed.

Not rescued.

Not treated like she was incapable.

Just loved enough to feel like she didn’t always have to carry everything alone.

Sometimes you don’t need someone to tell you what to do.

You need someone to sit beside you and say:

“I know you’re trying. You don’t have to explain everything right now.”

Maybe that’s what I was looking for without knowing how to ask for it.

Let Yourself Cry

If you need to cry, cry.

Don’t judge yourself for it.

Don’t tell yourself you’re weak because you couldn’t hold it together for one more hour.

You don’t have to be composed every minute of every day.

Sometimes you need to let the baggage out.

Sometimes crying is the release that lets you begin again.

But I also learned something else:

Functioning doesn’t mean you don’t need support.

You can still go to work and need someone.

You can still smile and be hurting.

You can still accomplish things and feel overwhelmed.

You can still be the person everyone depends on and secretly wish someone would take care of you for a moment.

Being capable doesn’t make you invincible.

And being the strong one doesn’t mean you should always have to be strong.

You don’t have to fall apart in front of everyone for your pain to be real.

You don’t have to prove that you’re struggling before you’re allowed to ask for support.

Maybe Someone Reading This Understands

Maybe you’ve been the person everyone describes as strong.

Maybe nobody asks how you’re doing because you’ve always been the one who says you’re fine.

Maybe you’ve cried alone because you didn’t know how to explain what was happening.

Maybe you’ve had nights when your mind wouldn’t stop.

Maybe you’ve been angry when what you really needed was to feel loved.

Maybe you’ve been overwhelmed but couldn’t find the words to tell anyone.

If that’s you, I don’t think you need to prove that your struggle is serious enough before you’re allowed to talk about it.

You don’t have to fall apart in front of everyone for someone to believe that you’re hurting.

And you don’t have to stop functioning before you deserve support.

Sometimes the person who looks the strongest is simply the person who has become very good at hiding how tired they are.

Maybe the strong one needs someone to ask, too.

This Is Only the Beginning

There are so many things we carry quietly.

Things we don’t know how to explain.

Things we minimize because someone else might consider them “not a big deal.”

Things we learn to live with until we forget that we were allowed to put them down.

This is the first episode of a series about those things — the thoughts, emotions, experiences, and quiet battles that don’t always make it into conversation.

The things we don’t say out loud.

There are more stories to tell.

More things to unpack.

And maybe, somewhere along the way, we’ll realize that the things we thought only we were carrying were never ours alone.

Until the next episode.