Luna Echoes

I’m that girl—the one who stays quiet, even when my heart is heavy with words I can’t say. The one who chooses silence, even when something feels so unfair it makes me want to scream. Instead, I swallow the hurt, smile like it doesn’t matter, and hide my feelings where no one else can see them.

It’s not because I don’t have opinions. I do. I just grew up learning to understand people first. To listen before I speak. To set aside my own feelings so others could have space for theirs. Over time, it became a habit. I accepted words that stung. I smiled through moments that cut deep. And slowly, silence became my comfort.

I got good at hiding. Too good, maybe. I didn’t complain. I didn’t let people see the hurt. I thought if I stayed quiet, no one would hate me. No one would call me too emotional. No one would see me as weak or selfish.

So if you ever meet me in a moment where you expect me to defend myself, you might be surprised. I probably won’t. I will choose you over me. Not because my voice doesn’t matter, but because I’ve trained myself to believe yours matters more.

But here’s something I don’t say out loud: I still hope. Somewhere inside me, I hope that someone will pause long enough to ask how I feel. Not out of politeness, but because they truly want to know. I hope someone will look past my quietness and make me believe I matter too.

That hope is what keeps me soft. It reminds me that my silence isn’t weakness. It’s proof of how much I’ve carried while still choosing to be kind. It shows how much love I’ve given, even when it wasn’t always returned.

I’m starting to learn that my voice deserves space as well. That it’s okay to want to be heard. And one day, I believe I’ll find the kind of place—or maybe the kind of person—where speaking my heart won’t feel like a burden, but like something welcome and safe.

Until then, I’ll hold on to hope. Because even if I’m quiet, I am not invisible. I am more than silence.

And maybe being “that girl” isn’t the end of my story. Maybe it’s the beginning of finally finding my voice.