There’s a fear that doesn’t come with warning signs. It just lives in the background like a low hum:

What if they find out who I really am?
What if they see me — and it destroys everything?

For years, that fear shaped how I moved. How I spoke. Who I trusted.
Even when I got close to the truth, I’d pull back. Not because I didn’t want freedom — but because part of me believed being fully seen meant losing everything.

Today, I think that block broke.

They read it. They probably shared it.

I’m still here.

Not spinning. Not collapsed. Not trying to fix or explain.

Seen. And safe.

I think this is the moment my nervous system was bracing for my whole life.
Not just the exposure — but the survival after it.

I used to believe I had to convince everyone I was okay to actually be okay.
But now I know better.

I don’t need to be approved of.
I don’t need to be understood.
I don’t need to be protected by people who’ve never truly protected me.

I just need to stay grounded in what’s real — in me.

This might be the moment everything shifts.

Because I was seen in my truth.
And the sky didn’t fall.
And I’m still standing.

And that changes everything.