A follow-up to “The Truth I Already Knew”
Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like a fraud.
I started sharing my story because I wanted people to feel less alone. I wanted others to know they weren’t broken, that someone else had felt the same darkness, the same shame. I created What About Now to support people — to remind them that help should be there, and that they deserve it.
But here’s the truth: every time I write, every time I record a podcast or blog post, I tend to speak as if everything I talk about is in the past. As if I’ve moved on. As if I’m healed.
And I think that defeats the very point of why I started all of this in the first place.
Because I’m not always okay.
I do still struggle.
And I hate admitting it.
I’ve fallen back into old habits — pretending, distracting, overworking. I throw myself into projects because it gives me purpose, and because sitting with myself still feels unbearable some days. My default emotion is still anger. I still push people away. I still avoid saying, “I’m struggling,” and instead choose to argue, deflect, joke, or go quiet.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t made progress. I have. I’m not where I used to be — but I’m also not where I want to be either.
Recovery, as I’ve learned, isn’t a clear road. It’s more like getting stuck at a red light, hoping it will turn green soon — then stalling the engine when it finally does.
Lately, I’ve found myself putting the mask back on. Smiling so no one asks questions. Acting upbeat so no one worries. I tell people I’m doing okay — and some part of me believes that’s what they want to hear. I’m scared that if I keep showing my vulnerability, people will get tired of it. That I’ll become a broken record. That I’ll scare people off.
The truth is, some days I still feel like I’m drowning.
Some mornings I still can’t get out of bed.
Some nights I still lie awake, staring at the ceiling, begging for peace.
And yes — I still struggle not to hurt myself. I just hide it better now. I’ve learned how to move the pain somewhere others can’t see.
The most frustrating part is that I know what I would say to someone else in this exact situation.
I’d tell them:
“It’s okay to not have it all figured out.”
“It’s okay if today, all you did was get from bed to the sofa.”
“It’s okay if some days you don’t want to be here.”
“You don’t need to be fixed. You just need to be loved.”
But this isn’t someone else.
This is me.
And when it comes to myself, compassion still feels out of reach.
Why I’m Still Writing Anyway
I’m sharing this because someone, somewhere, needs to hear that recovery doesn’t always mean resolution. Sometimes, it just means getting through the day without giving up. It means being honest — not just about the past, but about right now.
You don’t have to be “done” healing to be worthy of love.
You don’t have to be perfect to be a support to others.
You don’t have to wear the mask.
And maybe if I keep saying that to you…
Eventually, I’ll believe it for myself too.
—
With love,
What About Now
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