The truth is, I was playing a dangerous game with myself. A game of pretend. A game called, “Everything’s Fine.” And, spoiler alert, everything was definitely not fine.
Mark and I, we looked the part. Perfect Instagram couple. Smiling faces, exotic vacations, matching athleisure wear (don’t judge, it was comfy). But behind the filters and the perfectly curated grid, a slow-burning resentment was simmering, fueled by the things I wasn’t saying.
It started small. Mark always leaving his socks on the floor. Me quietly picking them up, muttering under my breath, but never actually telling him it bothered me. Then it escalated. Him constantly interrupting me when I was talking. Me forcing a laugh, telling myself I was being too sensitive, when inside I felt a little piece of myself shrinking.
I told myself I was being agreeable, easy-going. The “cool girlfriend.” The one who didn’t nag. But the truth? I was terrified. Terrified of confrontation. Terrified of rocking the boat. Terrified that if I actually voiced my needs, my desires, my annoyances, Mark wouldn’t like the real me. He wouldn’t like the me who wasn’t perpetually smiling and nodding.
So, I swallowed. I suppressed. I plastered on the smile and said, “It’s okay!” Even when it wasn’t. Especially when it wasn’t.
The weight of it all started to manifest in strange ways. I started having these bizarre dreams where I was trapped in a glass box, screaming, but no sound came out. I started getting headaches. My appetite disappeared. I was becoming a ghost in my own life, a shadow of the person I used to be.
One evening, we were at a dinner party, surrounded by friends, the air thick with laughter and Chardonnay. Mark, mid-anecdote, casually mentioned how I “always let him choose the movies because I have terrible taste.” The comment was laced with affection, I guess, but something inside me just snapped.
The smile finally cracked.
I excused myself, walked out onto the patio, and just started to cry. Big, ugly, snotty tears. I didn’t even try to stop them. It was like a dam had finally burst.
And in that moment, surrounded by the twinkling fairy lights and the muffled sounds of happy chatter, I realized I couldn’t keep pretending. I deserved to be heard. I deserved to be seen. And Mark, if he truly loved me, deserved to know the real me, flaws and all.
The game was over. It was time to start playing for real.
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