There are truths about my life that I still cannot say in rooms where I know they will be minimised

Dear Delyara, It is not only fear of truth. It is fear of bad reception. Of handing over something real and having it reduced to stress, hormones, overthinking, a phase, being too sensitive, needing a break, needing gratitude, needing perspective, needing to stop making a thing of it. Some rooms are not safe for truth because they can only receive it by shrinking it. I know this now. That knowledge has made me quieter. The truths still live in me. About marriage. About exhaustion. About what I’ve outgrown. About where I feel lonely, angry, underused, overused, afraid. I’m not confused about their existence. I’m cautious about the rooms I give them to. That caution has a cost. But so does being misunderstood.