The Day I Couldn’t Pretend Anymore

There’s a moment in every breakdown when the mask finally cracks.

For me, it didn’t look dramatic or movie-worthy. It happened on a quiet Sunday night—just me, staring at my phone, knowing work was tomorrow, and feeling like my chest might cave in from the pressure of one more breath.

I had been pretending for so long. Pretending to be fine. Pretending to manage everything. Pretending I wasn’t falling apart inside.

On the outside, I looked “functional.” I was still leading teams, still showing up, still playing the role of the “strong one."

But inside?

I was screaming for relief.

The suicidal thoughts weren’t passive anymore; they were images I couldn’t unsee, whispers that wouldn’t leave. I wrote in my journal that night:

“I feel like I’m a different person. And I don’t like her. If I could find a painless way… I might actually do it.”

That’s the level of pain I was carrying. Not because I wanted to die, But because I didn’t know how to keep living like that.

I had perfected the mask of high functioning depression, anxiety, OCD, etc. so well, even I believed it some days. But I wasn’t just tired anymore.

I was done.

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Wearing the Mask

I was a respected supervisor, the one people called for support. I coached over 30 people a month on work, emotions, goals. I mentored, guided, and held space for others constantly.

But behind closed doors?

I was unraveling.

I cried silently in the shower, I pushed my husband away because I couldn’t explain the chaos in my head. I smiled while entertaining thoughts of leaving this world. I felt relief knowing ending it would stop everything.

When I tried to open up, people told me how “self-aware” I was. Like that alone should fix it. But self-awareness doesn’t quiet the darkness. It just makes you more aware of how stuck you are inside it.

Even after quitting my job, the relief never came. The weight just shifted. I still believed someone else could fix me. That someone might show up and make it all better.

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The Moment I Couldn’t Do It Anymore

My birthday came.

I spent it cleaning, arguing, and holding back tears. I was surrounded by people who could sense something was wrong, but I kept saying I was fine. I wrote in my journal that night:

“This was the worst birthday since I was 20. I just want to die.”

But I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t want that life anymore. The one where I felt invisible. Unsupported. Disconnected from myself.

What I didn’t realize then was this:

The moment you can’t pretend anymore isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.

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What I Know Now

It took me years to shift that mindset. Years of silent survival. But the shift did come, and it didn’t arrive like a lightning bolt.

It came softly, in a whisper, through stillness.

It started when I stopped searching outside myself for a savior, and started listening inward.

Now when I read those old journal entries, I don’t feel shame, I feel awe.

Because the woman who wrote them?

She was strong as hell. Not because she held it all together, but because she didn’t give up, even when it felt pointless.

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Closing Reflection

If you're in that dark, heavy place right now, where silence feels louder than your cries, please know:

You are not weak.

You are not broken.

You are not behind.

You're just in the part of the story where it’s still dark, but the light isn’t out there somewhere.

It’s already inside you, waiting for space to shine.

Let this be your first step.

You don’t have to pretend anymore.