Life often leads us down unexpected paths, stretching us beyond what we thought we could endure. What we anticipate as our breaking point often fails to defeat us. Somehow, we find hidden reserves of strength within ourselves. It’s like punching an inflatable toy weighted at the bottom—it falls, only to resiliently bounce back. That’s how I feel, constantly knocked down only to rise again, feeling weary of the relentless blows. Someone close to me observed recently witnessed me unraveling over something as trivial as parking. They remarked, “You’ve reached your emotional limit,” and indeed, I have. I linger in a perpetual state of exhaustion, questioning the significance of it all amidst life’s upheaval. What lessons am I meant to glean from this chaos?

In the past, I’ve explored the metaphorical mask I wear to conceal my true emotions. But currently, maintaining that facade is an uphill battle. Control slips from my grasp, allowing tears to trickle down. Each step feels weighed down, my legs burdened with the strain. Managing these heightened emotions demands an exhausting amount of energy. Accepting the lack of control is a challenge in itself. My choices have led me to feel like an outsider peering in. It’s a peculiar conflict—I’ve deliberately distanced myself from certain situations, yet still feel I am being left out. This inner struggle echoes the words of the Apostle Paul in Romans 7:15, “For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.” This internal conflict is an universal experience. But knowing that doesn’t offer me any consolation. Only a select few are privy to the real me; for the rest, I present a facade that contradicts my true feelings. So as the title of this post is very fitting… “It’s not what it looks like”