will you still love me if i’m vulnerable?

will it change anything?

I remember a time when my friend asked if I had any problems. I hesitated.
Should I tell her the truth?
Should I say, “Nah, nothing. Just normal stuff. Personal.”
Because the truth was — I was breaking. I was fading. Everything felt too much, too loud, too heavy.

But how could I tell her that?
If she asked what was wrong, I wouldn’t have an answer.
Because I don’t know. That’s the truth — I don’t know what’s happening to me.

So, I stayed quiet.
I said, “I’m okay. Just frustrated with something. A little anxious. Nothing to worry about.”

Even now, after college, when we talk, I still hesitate.
I don’t tell them everything. Just enough to keep the peace.
Because they see me as the bright one. The positive one. The support system.

How could I be the one to break when they need me to be strong?

I always say yes.
I always hype them up.
I always show up.
I can’t break that character.
What if they don’t love me if I do?

Sometimes I think I don’t have the right to be vulnerable.
That maybe I deserve everything happening to me.

Last week, I went for lab tests to check if I had thyroid issues.
My best friend urged me — she’d just been diagnosed and we had the same symptoms.
I was relieved when she told me her results were okay. Still on meds, but improving. That brought me joy.

Mine were normal too.
But the doctor said I should see a psychiatrist.

I told my best friend, “It’s still bearable. I’m okay.”
But the truth is… I don’t know if I am.

Lately, I’ve been stuck in this loop — this constant, quiet relapse.
Overstimulated. Overwhelmed. Triggered by the tiniest things.
Hopeless. Hollow. Done.
I don’t want to do anything. I just want to lay still and rot.

I don’t want to eat, but I do. I don’t want to worry my family.
Call me disgusting, but even hygiene feels unbearable.
Lights feel like they’re stabbing me.
Noises like they’re screaming.
Everything is too loud. Too close. Too much.

And still — I don’t know why.
I don’t have a reason.
I just don’t.

I feel like I’m dragging this out. Like I’m trauma dumping without permission.
But I just want to let it out.
I don’t even know if anyone will read this.

But I wonder…
Is there someone out there who gets me?

We went on a hike recently. Me and my best friends.
Everything looked beautiful. It was supposed to feel freeing.
And yet — I slipped back into that role: the strong, positive, independent woman.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Right?

During the canyoneering, my best friends were afraid to jump.
So I went first — to test the waters.
I smiled and said it was okay. Like always.

But it was all of our first times. They were scared.
And by the end, they just wanted it to be over.
But you can’t quit halfway. You have to finish to make it out.

And I felt alone.
We had two tour guides, but they focused on my best friends.
I was left behind. Alone on the rocks.

Maybe I wanted someone to check on me.
Maybe I wanted someone to wait.
But they just assumed I was strong enough to go on alone.

And maybe I was.
But if I let myself be vulnerable… would anything change?

Would they still love me if I wasn’t the brave one?

Would someone have reached back and held my hand?

Would someone have waited, even if I was the last to jump?

I hope one day, I won’t have to be brave to be loved.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

If this piece echoed something in you — if you’ve ever felt like the strong one who wasn’t allowed to fall apart — I want you to know:
You don’t have to earn love by being unbreakable.
You are allowed to crumble.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to ask, “Will you still love me if I’m not okay?”
And I hope someone out there answers, “Yes. Especially then.”

And I will surely answer you; I love you dearly and sincerely

You are not alone. I promise.

— With all the softness I have,
Aerie