perception isn't proof

there was a time someone called me broken. not sad. not healing. not even struggling. just…broken. i remember how heavy that word felt. how casually it was said, how carelessly it landed, and how wrong it felt to me. i wasn’t broken, i was someone still moving through the wreckage of what had happened to her. i was trying, surviving, healing. and that’s not the same thing.

but that’s the thing about perception- what you say and what people hear are rarely the same thing. what you show and what they see can be two entirely different stories. you could be radiating peace, but someone may call it pride. you could be drawing a boundary, but it could be mistaken for coldness.

we’re all walking mirrors for other people’s projections. and when you stop trying to be understood by everyone, you begin to feel free.

i think a lot of people on my substack assume i’m sad. that i live in a constant cloud of melancholy. and i get why- it’s easy to think that when you read post after post about heartbreak, grief, loneliness, trauma. but the truth is: most of my writing comes from places i’ve been. places i’ve already walked through and left behind. i write for the version of me that felt like she had no one. i write so other people can feel a little less alone. but somewhere along the way, i realised that people started thinking that’s all i am. as if healing meant i had to abandon the memory of what hurt.

but i’ve healed- from most things. and now i write not just to express the pain- but to honour the healing. i’ve been writing more pieces that reflect who i am now. someone still soft, still feeling, but no longer in survival mode. someone who protects her peace fiercely, even if that protection looks like silence or distance to someone else. and that doesn’t make me rude- it makes me well.

some people see that and still misjudge it.

i’ve been called too picky for leaving relationships, whether platonic or romantic, when red flags show. difficult for saying no when something doesn’t feel right. dismissive when i don’t respond how someone expected. but i’ve spent too long betraying my intuition for the sake of being likable. i’ve learned that peace is expensive- and worth every boundary it costs.

there was a time i tried to curate every part of myself to be seen a certain way. from my instagram feed to the music i played out loud, from the way i spoke to the clothes i wore- i wanted to fit an extremely specific aesthetic. i wanted to be the girl who looked effortless but curated, chaotic but mysterious, loud in a way that still felt cool. and honestly? i pulled it off, sort of. but it was exhausting. i was always thinking about how i was being seen, not how i actually felt. now, i wear what i like. i post what i want. i listen to music that moves me, not what fits the vibe. i don’t want to live in a pinterest board, i want to live in my body. i want to feel grounded and real. and sometimes, that doesn’t look aesthetic at all- but this isn’t a bad thing. it is a human thing. we aren’t meant to live performatively to fit a heavily curated label.

but still, people build a version of me in their minds, and i don’t always recognise her. i’ve had friends send me songs or memes or posts they think i’ll love- and I don’t. and while it used to make me feel like they didn’t know me, i’ve realised it’s not that deep. people only ever see fragments of who you are. the rest is filled in by assumption, context, imagination. no one lives inside your brain. no one has access to your thoughts, your intentions, your internal world. so how can we expect anyone to perceive us exactly the way we want? and more importantly- why does it matter if they don’t?

there’s an odd freedom in being misunderstood. i used to think it was something i had to fix. that if someone didn’t get me, i needed to over-explain, clarify, soften myself, smooth out my edges. i thought understanding was the bridge to acceptance. but now, i don’t feel the need to be understood by everyone. it’s not their job to “get” me. and it’s not my job to perform legibility.

we all misread people, even if we don’t mean to. even when we’re trying our best. we bring our own bias and baggage and lens to every interaction. we’re human, and perception is subjective. it’s like art- we interpret things based on who we are, not who the artist is. and that’s okay! being misunderstood is just proof that you’re not a clone- you’re not easily packaged. you’re layered and complex and human. and people won’t always know what to do with that- and they shouldn’t have to. it’s okay to be misread. it’s okay to be seen in a way that doesn’t match how you see yourself. because the only perception that truly shapes your life is your own.

if someone thinks i’m broken, that’s a reflection of their definition of healing-not mine. if someone thinks i’m cold for protecting my energy, that’s a reflection of how they were taught to love- not how i express mine. if someone reads my writing and assumes i’m stuck in a state of sadness, that’s a reflection of how uncomfortable they are with seeing honesty outside of a neatly packaged happy ending. that’s not mine to carry.

what’s mine is the softness i’ve cultivated. the clarity i’ve earned. the peace i guard. what’s mine is how i love and feel and show up for myself and others. what’s mine is my self-trust, which took years to build and no longer needs external validation. i think we spend a lot of time trying to manage other people’s interpretations of us. we want to be liked, understood, respected. we want to be seen the “right” way. but honestly, i’d rather be misunderstood for who i really am than loved for a version of me that doesn’t exist.

so if people misjudge you- let them. if they don’t get your choices, your silence, your joy, your rage- let them. if they think you’re too much or not enough or too distant or too emotional- let them. you don’t need to twist yourself into clarity for anyone else. you don’t need to dilute your truth to be digestible. let people misunderstand you. let them build their own stories. let them sit with the version of you they think exists. meanwhile, you can keep living in your truth. you can keep evolving, shedding skins, becoming more yourself with every passing day. and maybe the right people will understand you. maybe they won’t. but either way, you’ll know who you are- and that will always be enough.

you were never meant to fit perfectly into someone else's understanding- just your own.