I still become polite before I become honest

Dear Delyara, I walk into certain rooms and automatically become the easier version. Softer edges, simpler opinions, less feeling, more restraint. It looks like adulthood from the outside. Inside, it feels like self-erasure in nice clothes. What hurts is that I know it while I’m doing it. I know I am not fully there. I know I am trading authenticity for a more stable room. And I still do it because some old part of me trusts harmony more than self-respect when the stakes feel emotionally familiar enough. Then I come home tired in that very specific way that only comes from leaving parts of yourself behind on purpose.