I Thought No One Would Understand

Learning to let people in, even when it hurts.

“It doesn’t matter how far you run—you can’t outrun your own head.”

I had a psychology session today. It’s the first time in a really long time that I’ve sat down and openly talked about things that usually feel too painful to touch. There’s a lot to unpack, but I want to start here.

The Parts I Kept Hidden

I’ve always found it hard to talk about certain parts of my life. They’re painful, and speaking them out loud has felt like reopening old wounds. These are experiences I’ve spent a lifetime running from.

I’ve also felt deeply misunderstood. In all my years, I’ve only ever met one person who I believe fully understood me—and that was because they had been there too.

So I used that as my excuse to protect the most vulnerable parts of me. I told myself people wouldn’t understand, so why bother? I can still picture conversations where I said I’d never bare it all because they just wouldn’t get it. I’d even say I was glad they didn’t understand—because it meant they hadn’t had to live my reality.

Looking back, that sounds patronising. If I’m honest, I was being an arsehole. I clung to that belief because it meant I didn’t have to deal with my problems. It let me pretend they never happened.

The Cost of Running

Because of that avoidance, I’m now facing problems that are nearly twenty years old. You can show the world a brave face, but you can’t keep up the pretence with yourself forever. There is no escaping your own head.

What I Missed About “Understanding”

I used to think the people around me needed to understand in order to help. They don’t.

The people who love you—even if they can’t fully grasp what you’ve lived through—still want to support you. They want to try. They don’t need your exact story to carry you through life when you can’t carry yourself. They don’t need shared experience to sit with you in the early hours when sleep won’t come. They don’t need to have been through it to show love and compassion.

For so long I said I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want pity.

That’s not what I was getting.

I was being offered love and support. I just couldn’t—or didn’t want to—see it.

Saying the Quiet Part Out Loud

I couldn’t voice to others what I was still too afraid to admit to myself. I couldn’t share the things I’d been running from in case they caught up with me.

Maybe if I had, things wouldn’t have been so heavy.

Where I Am Now

Today wasn’t easy. But it was a start. I’m learning that letting people in isn’t about finding someone who has lived my exact story—it’s about allowing myself to be held, seen, and believed even when there aren’t perfect words or perfect understanding.

Maybe that’s enough for now.