When I Call Myself a Burden

I’ve noticed that I let my emotions get the best of me. So much so that I call myself sensitive — a word that echoes the times in my childhood when I was labeled a “crybaby” for simply letting my feelings show. Now, I preemptively call myself names before anyone else can. I sabotage myself before anyone has a chance to.

I tell myself my feelings aren’t worth sharing, that I’d be a burden, that it’s too much to lay on someone else. But that’s not fair — neither to me nor to anyone I might confide in. I assume too much about others’ willingness to understand, forgetting that my internalized feelings inevitably resurface. And when they do, I convince myself it’s never the right moment to share them, for the sake of someone else’s comfort or happiness.

I want to talk. I want to express myself. But how much is too much? How much is enough? I want to forget so badly, yet forgetting frustrates me. Contradictory feelings seem to define me.

I remind myself that communication is key, yet in the moment I am confronted with my emotions, I freeze. I feel so much that I feel nothing at all — and yet that nothingness is draining. I overthink, trying to make sense of it all, and when I finally speak, I feel it’s too late. The words hang, unanswered, leaving me misunderstood and, once again, a burden.

I wrestle with whether to bury lingering feelings or speak until I feel satisfied. Each choice has pros and cons. If I bury them, will resentment grow? Will I ignore instinctual red flags? Or are these thoughts intrusive and best forgotten? If I speak, will I ever be satisfied, or will I only expose myself to further rejection? And yet, perhaps communication itself is the answer — a chance to be heard, a chance to hope that someone will listen with an open heart.