There’s a weird kind of loneliness that comes from wanting to be seen while also praying nobody looks too closely. Wanting someone to notice the hurt, the exhaustion, the way you’ve been holding everything together with shaky hands and caffeine and pure survival instinct… but also being terrified that if they really saw you, they might decide you’re too much, too emotional, too broken, too needy, too human. So you perform. You crack jokes in meetings. You answer I’m good on autopilot. You keep producing. Keep leading. Keep showing up polished enough that nobody asks too many questions. But underneath all that is a quiet little voice whispering, please see me. Please notice I’m drowning before I convince myself this is normal. And the messed up part is… when somebody actually does notice? Panic. Immediate panic. Because being seen means being vulnerable. It means somebody could confirm the fears you’ve been fighting in your own head. It means they might see the cracks you worked overt...

Some people meet me now and only know this version. the employed version. The dependable version. The leadership version. The one who knows how to steady the room when things get hard. But if you pulled random people from random ages of my life and asked them where they thought I’d end up? Some of them would’ve never guessed this life for me. I have lived in my car behind the same bar that fed habits I thought would swallow me whole. I have skipped meals so my kids wouldn’t have to. I have shown up to work knowing the electricity was out until payday. I have smiled through workdays while privately trying to survive my own life. I’ve buried people I loved. Watched some disappear into prison systems. Watched others lose battles nobody could see from the outside. I’ve learned that grief doesn’t always come with funerals. Sometimes people leave in pieces while they’re still alive. And maybe that’s exactly why I see potential in people so quickly. Because when you’ve li...