Pretending It Away

 

We always know when something has shifted.

When the vibe is off.

When the connection has faded.

When the chapter has ended.

When the season has changed.

Yet somehow, we become experts at prolonging the inevitable.

We smile.
We perform.
We keep showing up.

We put on the mask and try to pretend the pain away.

Because healing asks something most of us were never taught to give.

It asks for courage.
It asks for honesty.
It asks for vulnerability.

It asks us to expose what we've spent years trying to hide.

Many of us were raised to survive, not to heal.

Our ancestors, often out of necessity, taught us loyalty through silent submission. We learned that family business stays in the family. Pain isn't discussed. Wounds aren't acknowledged. You keep moving.

And I understand why.

Silence was protection.

But somewhere along the way, protection became a prison.

The more faithfully you honor that code, the deeper you bury the pain.

The shame.
The disappointment.
The rejection.
The embarrassment.

None of it ever really disappears.

It simply changes addresses.

It shows up in the relationships you choose.

The career you settle for.

The opportunities you talk yourself out of.

The life you convince yourself is "good enough."

Pretending doesn't heal you.

It keeps you circling the same mountain.

Buying things you don't need.

Seeking validation that never satisfies.

Reaching for distractions instead of freedom.

I had a real conversation with my mom recently about writing a book.

She looked at me and said,

"You've already written several. You just haven't released them."

As our conversation grew deeper, she made a declaration that stopped me in my tracks.

"I don't know why you keep shrinking into the background!."

Then she said something I'll never forget.

"You're always going to make people uncomfortable because you make them think."

And thinking demands accountability.

That's why people avoid it.

Not because they can't think—

because once they do, they have to confront what they've been pretending isn't there.

So yes...

Your voice may make people uncomfortable.

Your truth may not be popular.

Your healing may challenge people who have grown comfortable hiding.

Do it anyway.

Because your assignment was never to keep people comfortable.

It was to be obedient.

I've learned that every time I stand at the crossroads of fear and purpose, wondering if I should abandon the writing process or finally step forward, God sends confirmation.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Maybe the confirmation isn't coming because He's deciding whether you're ready.

Maybe it's coming because He's reminding you that He already decided.

Now it's your turn to stop pretending—and finally move.