“The Bigger Person”
People don’t understand
how hard it is
to constantly be the “bigger person”
when all I’ve ever been
is the smaller one—
shrinking myself
to fit into everyone else’s peace.
I was raised
to be polite, quiet,
to make space where there was none.
Conditioned to people-please
like it was survival—
because it was.
No boundaries.
Just “yes,” “I’m fine,” and silence.
From watching my mother
get torn apart by words
so sharp they left wounds no one could see—
yelled at for existing,
for breathing,
for being too much
or not enough.
And now it’s me.
Carrying her pain
like it’s sewn into my skin.
How many times
have I bit my tongue
until it bled,
just to keep the peace
that never included me?
I told my doctor,
“I’m drowning,”
and she handed me CBT
like it was a life raft.
But some of us need more
than worksheets and coping skills—
sometimes, we need someone
to hold our hand
when the world feels like it’s caving in.
Because life is already exhausting
when your mind
is a war zone.
The anxiety—
the calls, the check-ins, the window watching,
her eyes tracking my every step
like she’s waiting for me
to disappear.
It feels like I’m being choked
by love that’s laced with fear.
And I don’t know how to run
when the walls are made of family,
history,
duty,
guilt.
I just want to scream:
When will this pain end?
When do I get to be held,
to breathe,
to exist without breaking?
