good god girl get a grip
I feel burdened by the weight of being seen through someone else’s eyes, and by how much space their opinions can take up in my chest if I let them. We don’t talk enough about the quiet pressure of being perceived, of being labeled, remembered, and reduced to versions of ourselves we’ve already outgrown. Sometimes I catch myself believing the way others see me must be the truth. That if enough people misunderstand me, maybe I am what they think. But perception is too unstable to carry that kind of authority. It shifts with moods, memory, assumption. It often reveals more about the observer than the subject. What hurts most is being misunderstood by the people who are supposed to know me. The ones who have seen my softest moments, who were there when I was still figuring myself out. They remember who I was in my mess, in my uncertainty, and sometimes they cling to that version as if it's the only one that counts. It feels like they're talking to a ghost of me instead of the per...