Dearest Diary,
The day’s end, another moment to reflect.
Sometimes I wish people saw me the way I see myself — quiet, observant, always trying to make sense of things before reacting to them.
But more often, I get cast as the extrovert. The good listener. The emotionally available one. The steady space others feel safe pouring into.
And I don’t mind it… until I realize how rarely the flow is reversed.
Sometimes I walk away from conversations feeling heavier than when I entered them — like I’ve just inherited someone else’s grief or frustration, while mine stayed folded in the corner, untouched.
It’s strange being seen so much by others, and yet still feeling unseen.
They admire your calm, your patience, your ability to carry things — but rarely ask if you’re tired of carrying.
And I don’t always know how to say it without sounding ungrateful.
I like being someone others can turn to.
I like being someone people feel comfortable with.
But sometimes, I just want someone to turn toward me and ask first.
There’s a line in This Is Me Trying by Taylor Swift that lingers like a bruise:
“I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying.”
It’s such a simple sentence. But it’s everything I want to say when I fall quiet in a conversation. When I stop replying as fast. When I disappear for a bit. When I smile even though I’m bone-tired inside.
According to emotional labor research, people who are seen as “emotionally safe” often carry invisible burdens — they absorb more, give more, and are rarely given the space to rest (Hochschild, 1983)¹. They’re perceived as strong, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling.
I think I’ve been socialized into being useful. Into being digestible. Into being a version of myself that people can handle.
But the truth is — even when I’m withdrawn, even when I’m quiet, even when I need space — this is me trying.
Trying not to disappear.
Trying to hold my own without needing to hold everyone else at the same time.
Trying to be real in a world that often praises performance.
And maybe that’s what I’m still learning — that I don’t have to disappear to protect my softness. That I can be seen and still choose who gets to know the whole story.
Today wasn’t particularly loud or heavy. But it left a mark — the kind you don’t notice until the end of the day, when your shoulders ache and you realize it’s not from posture. It’s from the weight of being perceived.
—
Yours in letters, always,
Pandora
P.S. If you’re reading this now, welcome to my late-night musings. If you’re catching up later, I’d love to hear your thoughts—leave a comment or connect with me on social!
Title inspired by the song “This Is Me Trying” by Taylor Swift. All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.
📚 Footnote (Study Reference)
Hochschild, A. R. (1983). The managed heart: Commercialization of human feeling. University of California Press.
Link to study summary