By Relationship Expert
Owie Joy
There’s a point in everyone’s life when the need for truth outweighs the fear of being vulnerable. We spend so much time wearing masks, building walls, and saying what’s expected that we forget the power of saying what we actually feel. Not what’s convenient. Not what’s polite. But what’s real. And sometimes, the most healing words you can ever say — or hear — are the ones spoken straight from the heart.
This isn’t a cry for attention or a poetic attempt to seem wise. This is me, writing because I’ve carried too much in silence, and it’s time to let it go. If you’ve ever been in that place — where the weight of unspoken emotions is heavier than anything physical — then maybe this is for you too.
The Quiet Burden of Pretending
For a long time, I thought strength meant hiding pain. That to survive in this world, you had to suppress your feelings and keep moving. I became good at it. Smiling when I felt like crying, joking when I was drowning, pushing through when all I wanted was to be held. It became second nature — not showing too much, not feeling too deeply.
But the truth is, pretending is exhausting. There’s a loneliness that comes with not being seen for who you really are. People admire the mask, but they don’t see the bruises underneath. They praise your calm, not knowing it’s born out of fear. They assume you’re okay because you make them laugh, not realizing it’s a defense mechanism.
It took me years to realize that being honest about your feelings isn’t weakness — it’s one of the strongest things you can do. Admitting that you’re hurting, that you care, that you need help — that’s courage. That’s where healing begins.
To Those I’ve Loved (and Maybe Lost)
There are people who’ve walked through my life and changed me — some in beautiful ways, others in painful ones. But all of them left something behind.
To the ones I loved but never told: I wish I had. I wish I hadn’t waited for the perfect moment or the right words. I thought I had time. I thought you’d always be there. But life moves fast, and people drift, and now I carry words I never said like stones in my chest.
To the ones I hurt: I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t always know how to love well. Sometimes I pushed people away when I needed them most. Sometimes I chose silence over truth, distance over vulnerability. If I made you feel small, invisible, or unloved — that was never my intention. I was hurting too, and I didn’t know how to say it.
And to the ones who stayed, despite it all: thank you. Your presence is a kind of grace I’ll never forget. In a world that moves on so quickly, your loyalty — your belief in me — kept me grounded. You taught me that love isn’t always grand gestures or perfect timing. Sometimes it’s quiet, steady, and real.
On Forgiveness (Especially of Myself)
One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn is how to forgive myself. Not just for the things I did, but for the things I allowed — for the times I kept quiet when I should’ve spoken up, for the moments I betrayed my own values to keep the peace.
I’ve made choices I’m not proud of. I’ve stayed in places I should’ve left, and left when I should’ve stayed and fought. But I also know that every decision was made with the version of me that existed then — someone still learning, still trying to figure it out.
If you’re reading this and you’re holding onto guilt, I hope you’ll find it in yourself to let go. You’re allowed to evolve. You’re allowed to grow past the things you regret. No one has it all figured out. And sometimes, forgiveness means accepting that you did the best you could — even if it wasn’t good enough for others.
The Truth About Healing
Healing doesn’t look like a straight line. It’s not about waking up one day and magically feeling whole. Sometimes healing feels like progress — and sometimes it feels like starting over.
Some days I feel free. Other days, the memories hit me like a wave, and I have to remind myself that I’m not that broken person anymore. That I’ve done the work. That I’m still doing the work.
The truth is, healing is messy. It’s crying in the car, journaling in the middle of the night, reliving things you thought you buried. It’s learning how to trust again — not just others, but yourself. It’s finding joy in ordinary moments and realizing that peace isn’t something you wait for. It’s something you fight for.
And through it all, you start to realize something powerful: your heart may be bruised, but it still beats. You may be scarred, but you’re still here. And that’s something worth celebrating.
If I Could Say One Thing
If I could sit across from you — the reader — and say one thing without holding back, it would be this:
You are enough.
Not when you lose weight, not when you make more money, not when you’re finally over the breakup or the trauma or the loss. You are enough right now. In this moment. With all your flaws, your baggage, your doubts.
You don’t need to earn love by being perfect. You don’t need to be fixed to be worthy of kindness. And you are not defined by the worst thing you’ve done or the hardest season you’ve survived.
I know life can be overwhelming. I know the world often feels cold and indifferent. But there are people — maybe even strangers — who would hold your hand if they knew what you were carrying. Who would listen. Who would care.
You don’t have to go through it alone. And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re okay if you’re not.
Speak. Cry. Scream if you need to. Write your truth. Say what’s in your heart. Because that’s how you come alive again. That’s how you find your way back to yourself.
A Final Word — From Me to You
This letter — this confession, this release — isn’t perfect. But it’s real. Every word has come straight from the heart, because that’s where the truth lives. That’s where healing begins.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Maybe you saw yourself in these words. Maybe it made you remember someone you lost. Or maybe, just maybe, it gave you the courage to speak your own truth.
Whatever it is, I hope you leave here feeling less alone. More human. More hopeful.
And I hope, when the time comes, you’ll share your own story — straight from the heart.
