Never Enough

I show up. Even when I’m empty, I show up. I fight battles in silence that no one will ever understand. And still, it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough.

I hit milestones alone, wipe my own tears, talk myself out of the dark, and pretend I don’t notice the way you light up for them— for everyone but me.

I’ve done the same things. Put in the same effort. Sometimes even more. But you don’t clap for me. You don’t see me. And if you do, I must not be worth acknowledging.

You tell them you're proud. You say it loud—smiling, glowing. But when it comes to me, it's silence. A shrug. Or worse—comparison.

I know I shouldn't need your validation to feel worthy. But I do. Because I loved you enough to care. To want it. To ache for it.

And when you don't give it, it feels like there's no point in trying. Like every win is hollow. Every effort wasted. Because if the one person I long to be proud of me never will be... then what’s the point?

I’m tired. Not just tired—drained. Of trying to be seen. Trying to be enough.

I want to matter without having to scream for it. I want to be celebrated, not tolerated. But maybe I’ll never be.

And that... that’s what breaks me the most.