I regret how much of my life I spent making myself easier to love

Dear Delyara, The quietness I offered instead of truth. The understanding I offered instead of anger. The patience I offered instead of leaving. The excuses I made for other people while my own body kept trying to tell me what it could no longer absorb without damage. I thought I was being mature. Sometimes I was simply betraying myself politely. There are years of my life that look respectable from outside and feel devastating from inside once I remember what it actually cost me to stay so manageable in them. I don’t only regret what others did. I regret how long I kept translating my own pain into smaller language to keep rooms stable. That is a difficult kind of grief to carry because no one else really sees the version of you that was left behind inside that behaviour. You do. And you live with her.