Date: April 22, 2025
Author: Emily R. Lopez
I don’t even have to try anymore. It’s automatic now, like a reflex. The smile, the words, the little nods. The “I’m good” that slips out before I even realize I’m saying it. It’s become such a part of who I am that I don’t even notice it most days. But I’m not good.
The truth is, every morning, I wake up with a tightness in my chest. My brain floods with a list of things I’m anxious about — things I haven’t even done yet. There are days when the thought of answering the phone makes my hands shake. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to people, but the pressure to be calm, to be composed, to perform this version of myself is overwhelming. I wonder if people ever notice how much effort it takes for me to sound just a little bit normal. How much energy it takes to push back the anxiety gnawing at my insides.
Before every meeting, before every call, I can feel the panic rising. My heart races, my thoughts scatter. But I don’t let anyone see it. Instead, I slip on my mask — the one that says, “I’m okay, everything’s fine,” even though inside, I’m anything but fine. And the worst part? It works. I’ve perfected the art of pretending so well that even I sometimes forget how far removed I am from the person I’m pretending to be.
At night, when I finally get some peace, the thoughts come rushing in. The ones from years ago, the things I said or didn’t say, the tiny mistakes that I’ve replayed in my mind a thousand times. It’s like a constant loop of shame and regret. I’ve tried to quiet it, but it never goes away. I can’t sleep because my mind won’t stop. I can’t sleep because I’m terrified that I’ll wake up tomorrow and feel the same — like I’m still pretending.
I want to tell someone. I want to tell them that I’m exhausted, that I can’t keep up this facade forever. But every time I open my mouth to say it, the words die in my throat. I’m too good at this now. Too good at lying with a smile. And maybe that’s the scariest part of all — that I’ve become so skilled at pretending that I’m not sure I even know who I really am anymore.
