“I Always Say I’m Okay”
I don’t usually talk about my mother.
Not because she isn’t part of my life,
but because she is, and that makes it complicated.
I love her. I really do.
And that’s what makes everything harder to explain, because sometimes love doesn’t feel soft. Sometimes it feels heavy. Sometimes it feels like something you have to survive.
A lot of bad things have happened between us.
Now I’m 17, and I keep trying to forgive her. Over and over again.
And every time I think maybe it’ll get better, it somehow gets worse.
She treats me like I’m the black sheep.
Like I’m the problem.
Like I’m the one who makes everything harder.
Even though I try.
I give her money when I can.
I help where I can.
Sometimes it feels like I take care of her more than she ever took care of me.
Because the truth is… she wasn’t really the one who raised me.
My grandmother was.
She’s the one who was there when I needed someone.
And now I live alone.
I have my own place.
My own space.
My own life.
But somehow… her words still reach me.
Still hurt me.
Today wasn’t even supposed to be a big thing.
I’m a Christian, and sometimes you go to church with people, brothers, sisters from church. I couldn’t go alone, and I already had a plan. My aunt was going to take me.
But then things changed.
My aunt had to work at 1 in the afternoon, and I had to be at church at 11 in the morning. So suddenly, I didn’t have a way anymore.
I didn’t even plan to ask my mother.
She wasn’t part of my plan at all.
But I had no choice.
I could’ve taken the bus…
but I didn’t have money on me.
So I asked her.
Just something simple:
“Are you going to be able to take me?”
She asked what time.
I said 11 in the morning.
And then she started explaining her plans, how she was coming to see me with my big brother, how she was going to drop him home, how she had work, how everything would have to change.
And then it came.
“Because of you, I have to change my plans.”
“Because of you, I have to go there early.”
“Because of you…”
Over and over again.
And I just stood there thinking…
I wasn’t even supposed to ask you.
You weren’t even part of this.
I only asked because I had no other choice.
But somehow, it turned into my fault.
And that’s how it always is.
Every single time.
When it’s my brother, everything is different.
He gets treated softly, like he matters more.
Like he’s the prince.
And me?
I’m the problem.
The burden.
The one who makes things difficult.
My head started to hurt.
Not just a normal headache,
but the kind that comes when you’re trying so hard not to feel everything at once.
And when the conversation ended, I didn’t say much.
I just told myself, quietly, over and over again:
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
They’re just words, right?
But they’re not.
Because people always say it’s your mother’s words that hurt the most.
And they’re right.
I’m just a child with feelings,
trying my best to stay here,
trying my best to keep going,
even when it feels like the person who’s supposed to make life easier
is making it harder instead.
And still…
when people ask me how I’m doing,
I say I’m okay.
I always say I’m okay.
Even when I don’t know what “okay” is supposed to feel like anymore.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 8:36 PM UTC
I love me.
I love me so much.
But you think I woke up one day and said,
“Yes, let me be sick.”
Let me have headaches almost every day.
Let me throw up.
Let me feel weak.
Let me drink medicine every single day.
Let me go to the doctor again and again.
Let me stay home for a week.
Maybe two.
Let me miss school,
miss normal,
miss being like everyone else.
You think I chose that?
You think I thought,
“My life is too simple,
let me make it harder.”
Let me wake up in pain.
Let me cry.
Let me feel my body hurt even after sleep,
because sleep doesn’t fix it.
Let me pray every day.
No, beg every day.
For almost eleven years.
You think I never prayed?
You think I never asked God,
“Please… take this away?”
They tell me,
“If you don’t think about it, it won’t come.”
Like I like thinking about it.
Like I sit here and invite the pain in.
Like I enjoy talking about being sick.
Do you think I like this?
Every time I try to study,
every time I try to learn,
to put something in my brain,
I get sick.
My head starts hurting.
My body says no.
So what am I supposed to do?
They say,
“You’re lucky. You get to stay home.”
Lucky?
Nobody sees the truth of staying home.
The exhaustion.
The pain.
The lying in bed, still hurting.
The kind of tired that sleep can’t fix.
Nobody sees calling home
because you don’t feel okay.
Nobody sees going home
just to feel the same pain
in a different room.
And when I don’t say I’m sick,
when I stay quiet,
it’s because I already know
what they’ll say.
“You’re pretending.”
Pretending?
You think I chose this life?
You think I said,
“Yes, let me take medicine forever.
Let me feel pain forever.
Let me live like this forever.”
You think I like it?
I hate it.
I hate being sick.
I hate my sickness.
I hate what it does to me.
I hate having
epilepsy.
I hate having laagasale.
I hate the fear,
the kind that makes me pray
before I even stand up,
because I don’t know
if I’ll fall.
I hate the crying.
The everyday crying.
The kind that comes
because I have this,
because it won’t leave,
because it’s been years
and it’s still here.
Nobody likes being weak.
Nobody likes throwing up.
Nobody likes living like this.
And the worst part?
Nobody understands.
Not really.
They don’t feel it in their bones.
They don’t feel it in their head.
They don’t live in this body.
But I do.
Every day.
And still,
I love me.
Even when I hate this.
Even when I hate everything about this.
I love me.
Because this pain…
this sickness…
It’s not something I chose.
But I’m still here
carrying it anyway.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
The Safe Place No One Sees
Maybe if someone read this,
they would think it was poetry.
But it isn’t really poetry.
It is just what my heart sounds like
when it is tired.
I feel like I don’t have a voice anymore.
Only water.
Only tears that read the words for me
when I can’t speak them out loud.
My tears flow like rivers.
I pray.
I pray and pray and pray.
Sometimes I don’t even know
what I’m asking God for anymore.
Sometimes I just talk
because I need Him to hear me.
Because I need someone to hear me.
I stay here, watching life happen,
trying to understand what is really going on.
But I am tired.
I am tired.
I am tired.
I am tired.
Still… I know I cannot give up.
Even if sometimes I want to rest my head
and disappear into sleep forever.
Something keeps me breathing.
Maybe it is God.
The God with wisdom deeper than anything,
the one who hears prayers of sorrow
and prayers of healing.
Maybe He is the reason
I am still here.
People say when you go through
the worst struggle,
the deepest pain,
it means something is coming.
They say it is preparing you
for the life you always dreamed about.
The better life you always hoped for.
But right now
I feel lost.
Lost between faith
and exhaustion.
I cry because I don’t want
to keep pretending.
Every day I pretend.
I pretend that I am happy.
I pretend that I am okay.
I pretend that everything is fine.
But deep down I know the truth.
I am not okay.
Sometimes I just want to sleep
and not wake up.
So I ask God,
What am I supposed to do?
Because sometimes
I feel alone.
Sometimes
I feel unloved.
But the truth is…
I do have friends.
I really do.
I have many friends.
I even help strangers online,
people I have never met.
I love helping people.
God knows that.
I love making people smile.
I love complimenting people.
I love checking on them.
I love listening to them
with my full attention.
When someone is hurting,
I want to help them.
When someone feels alone,
I want to be there.
I like being that person.
The safe place.
The sister.
The big sister.
The home people run to
when they need comfort.
And I love it.
I truly do.
But sometimes, quietly,
a question appears in my heart.
If I help everyone…
Why does it sometimes feel
like no one helps me?
Why do I feel like
I am always the one
who has to talk first?
Why do I feel like
I am always the one
who checks on everyone?
And ****
That hurts.
It hurts more than I can explain.
But I try to be fair.
Because I know something too.
My friends do care about me.
Some of them check on me.
Not every day,
but when they have time.
They say things like,
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“I’m here for you.”
“You’re not alone.”
“You have me.”
“You have us.”
And I see it.
I really do see it.
I know they love me.
So I don’t want it to seem like
they are not there.
Because they are.
But sometimes
when your mind gets darker
and darker,
even when you know people love you,
your mind makes it disappear.
It makes you feel alone anyway.
Even when you are not.
I used to be very talkative.
I still am, in a way.
But lately
I don’t talk like I used to.
I keep everything inside.
Everything is bottled up.
Because when I used to talk about my pain,
it felt like people didn’t give
the same attention
that I give them.
And I know
you cannot expect people
to give the same attention
you give them.
That’s not how life works.
But still…
it hurts.
So slowly
I stopped talking.
I stopped explaining my pain.
And now something strange has happened.
I don’t even remember everything anymore.
My trauma.
My pain.
It’s like my mind buried it somewhere
because it didn’t know what to do with it.
The pain is still there.
But the words are gone.
And sometimes
I don’t know how to speak anymore.
I don’t know how to say
what my heart is carrying.
I don’t want to worry my friends.
I don’t want them to carry my pain too.
When they smile at me,
when they tell me their stories,
their problems,
their sadness,
it actually makes me happy.
Because they trust me.
They see me as their safe place.
Their home.
Their sister.
And I love that.
I don’t want to lose that part of me.
I don’t want my pain
to destroy the person I am.
Because my heart
is a loving heart.
I love people.
I love helping them.
I don’t wish my pain
on anyone.
Not even my worst enemy.
But sometimes
the weight of everything
sits on my chest.
And I feel like
I cannot carry it anymore.
So I pray again.
Because God
is my safe place.
When everything feels too heavy,
my heart runs to Him.
Even when I don’t understand.
Even when I am tired.
Even when I feel lost.
I still pray.
Because maybe somewhere
beyond all this exhaustion,
beyond the tears,
beyond the silence,
God is still holding me here.
Still keeping me breathing.
Still keeping me alive.
And maybe one day
someone will look at me
the same way I have always
looked at everyone else.
And say,
“You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 9:11 AM UTC