Raw.Real.Recovered.

What parts of me don’t I want you to see?

The ones that ache quietly. The ones that whisper “I’m not actually okay” while I smile and say I’m fine. The parts that still carry shame from years ago—shame I’ve dressed up as sarcasm and strength so no one gets too close. The overthinking, the fear of being a burden, the twisted guilt for wanting to be wanted. The part that sometimes feels unworthy of real love, even though I give it away like it’s oxygen. The jealousy. The fear of being forgotten. The way I sometimes sabotage good things because I don’t believe I deserve them.

The thoughts I’m ashamed to say?

What if they only love the version of me I show them?

What if they knew the ugly, unfiltered truth—the days I feel nothing, the nights I feel everything, the moments I want to disappear just to see who would come looking?

But God, don’t I want someone I can trust with all of it?

Not just the cleaned-up version.

The mess.

The raw, uncut footage.

The nights I break and the mornings I pretend I didn’t.

Someone who says, “You don’t scare me. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to love you.”

Who doesn’t need me to shrink or stretch to fit what they need, because they just want me.

What would that feel like?

Like coming home to a place I never thought I deserved.

Like exhaling without realizing I’d been holding my breath.

Like knowing—deep down, no matter how I twist or unravel—there is one person who will stay.

No matter how heavy.

No matter how complicated.

No matter how much of myself I finally let them see.

That’s the kind of love that heals what shame tried to bury.

That’s the kind of love I crave.

The kind that doesn’t flinch.

The kind that chooses me, even when I’m not sure I would.