A Letter From a Man Who Never Asked for Help
I don’t know how to start this, so I’ll start with the truth.
I am tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes — the kind that sits inside your bones, inside your heart, inside the parts of you nobody sees. The kind of tired that comes from pretending for so long that even you don’t remember what honesty feels like.
I have spent my whole life being “the strong one.”
The reliable one.
The calm one.
The one who never breaks.
But here’s the part you never saw:
I have been breaking for years.
You just didn’t notice — because I made sure you didn’t.
I learned early that a man’s pain isn’t something people want to hear about. People love you when you’re useful, when you’re standing tall, when you’re smiling through storms. But the moment a crack appears, the warmth disappears. Or may...
