UNSEEN - UNSAID - UNSETTLED

For all the unseen, unsaid, and unsettled stories that are still trying to find their breath.

Some stories sit quietly behind smiles, tucked beneath silence, in the space between "I'm fine" and everything we really wanted to say.

They remain unseen - not because we hide them well, but because no one looked close enough.

They stay unsaid - not because the words didn’t exist, but because there was no one to pat my shoulder, no one standing quietly behind my back when I needed to speak.

And so they remain unsettled - restless, spinning, looking for a way out in quiet midnights and loud minds.

Some aches don’t echo loud enough to be heard. They don’t scream, they don’t break. They just settle! quietly, numbly-beneath the surface. This silence is loud enough to break you, and enough to make you feel, nothing at all.

And I wasn’t looking for solutions. I wasn’t even asking for advice. I just wanted someone to notice, that I was quieter than usual, that my smile was delayed, that “I’m fine” didn’t mean I was. There was no voice saying, “You don’t have to hold it together.” No shoulder to lean on while I kept pretending I didn’t need one.

Some things stay unsaid, not because we don’t feel them, but because we’re scared. Scared of being judged, of disappointing the ones we love - our families, or even worse, of losing them entirely.

So I carried those unsaid things, like little stones in my pocket - not heavy enough to collapse me, but too many to ignore. Smiling in rooms where my voice trembled, nodding when I wanted to scream, laughing when my chest felt tight.

Because somewhere along the way, I convinced myself:

If I didn’t talk about it, maybe it didn’t matter.

Maybe the ache would disappear.

Maybe silence was safer.

But silence, too, has a weight.

It builds slowly -

Until one day you realise,

You’re not tired from the day.

You’re tired from pretending.

But healing doesn’t always arrive with noise.

Sometimes, it shows up quietly -

In the way you finally exhale without flinching.

In the way you sit with your feelings without rushing to shut them down.

In the way you write it down instead of holding it in.

Some stories don’t need to be shouted.

They just need space.

A little room to breathe.

A little warmth to unfold.

A little safety to be seen.

Maybe not everyone will understand the weight of what you carry, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

You don’t owe the world your constant strength.

You’re allowed to be soft,

To pause,

To not have it all figured out.

And slowly - 

The unseen becomes felt.

The unsaid begins to whisper.

And the unsettled?

It doesn’t vanish overnight.

But maybe, just maybe,

It starts to find a place to rest.

Raman