There’s nothing harder for me than pretending. Small talk, surface-level nods, the unspoken agreements to stay light and polite—it feels like I’m suffocating in a space where I’m not allowed to show up fully.
I wasn’t built for the lobby.
I wasn’t built for polite performances or half-truths.
I wasn’t built to wait around the edge of someone’s comfort zone, hoping they’ll let depth happen.
I was built for the deep end.
Being real isn’t some aesthetic or lifestyle choice—it’s my value system. It’s number one. And the older I get, the more intolerant I’ve become of anything that falls short of it. Not because I’m harsh, but because I’ve felt the cost of self-abandonment. I’ve worn the mask, played the role, said what I was supposed to. It was exhausting.
Now I can’t do less than real. I mean that literally—I cannot. And yes, it makes things messier. It makes me misunderstood. It makes people uncomfortable. But I’d rather be misunderstood than unseen.
The truth is: some people are content to live at the surface. To dance outside the depth of their own life. And maybe they’re not ready—or they never learned how to swim in that deep end. That’s okay.
But I’m not waiting in the lobby anymore.
So if you feel this too—if you’ve ever felt like your wholeness was too much, your truth too intense, your presence too unfiltered—please know you’re not alone.
We’re not too much.
We’re just not lukewarm.
And that’s the point.
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