and I try to make up rules to fit in. It's as if happiness is measured by a checklist, and I always cross off the "perfect girl" item.

I'm afraid that if I show my true self—too weird, too stubborn, too emotional—they simply won't want me. And this feeling lives inside me constantly, quietly creeping into my every conversation, every text, every glance 😓.

I try to fight it, telling myself: "Well, it doesn't matter, the main thing is to be myself." But what if "myself" isn't enough? What if love demands perfection, and I'm imperfect in every little detail? And then I ask myself a strange question: "If I end up alone, is it because I'm real?" 💔

On the other hand, sometimes I catch myself thinking that being myself is like allowing myself to breathe. Even if someone doesn't appreciate me, at least I'm not losing myself trying to please. It's a strange relief, but with it comes anxiety: what if this freedom turns into emptiness if there's no one around who accepts me for who I am? 🌬️

And yet, maybe true love isn't about perfection, but about being willing to be vulnerable. Have you ever felt like the fear of being real is stronger than the desire to be loved? 💭