Someone who knows when to keep quiet, laugh beautifully, be an inspiration, and never — never — lose control.
I tried to be like that for a long time. And I almost succeeded.

Almost.

But you know what I realized? Living in an image is like wearing tight shoes. They seem beautiful, but by evening you want to howl in pain and throw them out the window.

Seeming perfect means knowing how to play
I knew how to respond correctly. How not to impose. How to "keep a straight face," even when everything inside was torn apart by resentment or fear. I smiled when I wanted to cry. I said "everything is fine" when I wanted to say: "Hug me. I'm scared."

I was applauded - for my self-control, for my restraint, for my "wisdom". But no one knew how sometimes I fell asleep with a lump in my throat, because I didn't give myself the right to be alive.

Being real... is scary
You know what's really hard? Not putting on makeup - no. Not being liked - that's it.
It's hard to admit that you're tired. That you're jealous. That you're afraid of being alone. That you can't cope, and you need someone by your side.
Because somewhere deep down there's a thought: if I show weakness, they'll stop loving me.
If I'm "inconvenient", they'll leave.
If I'm not perfect, they'll choose someone else.

But then something important happens
You suddenly get tired. To the point of trembling. To the point of nausea. And at some point you decide: let them see the real me. Without the gloss.
With scattered thoughts. With anxious mornings. With a voice that trembles when I'm nervous.
And a person appears - a friend, a loved one, a casual fellow traveler - who is not afraid. Who does not leave.
But stays.
And for the first time you feel: you can love me like this. Without a filter.

I'm learning to be myself. Little by little
I still sometimes break into the usual game - "to be right". I'm still afraid of seeming "too much". But now, when I catch myself doing this, I just breathe deeper and think:

"I am me. And that's enough."

Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I get angry. Sometimes I say stupid things, get nervous, get confused in words. But in these moments - I'm alive.
And if someone chooses not this version, but a fictitious one - let them pass by. I don't feel sorry anymore.

Being real is not weakness. It's courage.
We are often afraid to show ourselves, because it seems: "well, who will love such a one?"
But in reality, it's the other way around.
People don't fall in love with facades. They fall in love with stories, with imperfections, with realness.
With the way you laugh. With the way you're sad. With the way you dream. With the way you squint out the window in the morning.

And finally, if you're also tired of being perfect
Take it off yourself. Not all at once, not abruptly. Just little by little. Allow yourself to be funny. To be vulnerable. To be a woman who doesn't have to be strong 24/7.

You're not perfect. And thank God for that.

You're alive. And that means that with you, I can just be. Without masks. Without roles. Without acting.

And you know... that's priceless.