People assume that having a big family means you’re automatically supported.
That you always have someone to lean on.
That holidays are full of warmth.
That there’s always a couch to cry on and a person to call.
But sometimes having a big family doesn’t feel like a safety net.
Sometimes it feels like an audience.
***
There’s a specific kind of loneliness that happens when you’re surrounded by people but you don’t feel emotionally safe with them.
Not because they’re strangers.
Because they know you.
Maybe not via your own verbal sharing, but by the rumor mill.
But still, they know your past.
They remember old versions of you.
They remember things you regret.
And instead of holding those things gently, they treat them like material.
…like stories to retell.
…like jokes.
…like proof that you “didn’t live up to your potential.”
So you learn to keep your life private.
You learn to share less.
You learn to handle things alone.
Not because you want to be alone.
But because it’s easier than being misunderstood.
***
One of the hardest parts is realizing that things you went through…things you’re still trying to make peace with…get repeated like trivia.
You live your life through the highs and lows and it becomes a headline.
You make a decision during a low point, and it becomes your permanent label.
And then you find out the story has traveled…because someone you barely know suddenly knows it too.
Not to support you.
To judge you.
To laugh.
To “teach you a lesson.”
To tell a stranger at a Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant like it’s a fun fact.
And the worst part is, sometimes they don’t even have the story right.
They’ll add details that aren’t true, exaggerate the parts that make you look worse, and leave out every piece of context that would make you look human.
And you’re standing there thinking…why does my life belong to everyone else?
***
I’m overweight right now, and I don’t say that for sympathy…I say it because it’s part of the truth.
And as lame as it sounds, there are days I avoid family events because I don’t want to be perceived.
I don’t want the comments, the looks, the imagined thoughts.
I don’t want people who have watched my life like a show to get a “new season.”
So I make excuses…
I say I’m sick…I say I don’t feel good…and sometimes I don’t, but that’s not the point.
Shame doesn’t just live in your head. It lives in your body.
It makes you want to hide.
And then you miss birthdays and parties and little moments you can’t get back…not because you don’t love your family, but because showing up feels like volunteering to be judged.
***
What hurts is knowing that these are the people you’re “supposed” to be able to relax around.
These are the people society tells you will be there no matter what.
But “family” doesn’t automatically mean safe.
Sometimes family means you have to armor up.
And that’s exhausting.
It’s exhausting to love people and still feel like you need to protect yourself from them.
***
I’ve had moments where I probably needed support.
I’ve been depressed.
I’ve been overwhelmed.
I’ve made decisions I regret.
I’ve tried to reinvent myself and failed.
I’ve wanted to be proud of myself and didn’t know how.
And instead of feeling held, I felt watched.
So I became the person who deals with things quietly.
The person who keeps to herself, because privacy is the only place she feels respected.
People see that and think you’re distant.
But sometimes “distant” is what you become when closeness isn’t safe.
***
I used to think something was wrong with me for feeling this way.
Like I should just “not care what people think.”
Like I should just “show up anyway.”
Like I should just “be confident.”
But confidence doesn’t grow in an environment where your vulnerability gets punished.
And I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want this…
To be around family and feel like you can breathe.
To make mistakes and not be mocked for them for years.
To be a human being without being turned into a cautionary tale.
***
I’m learning that I can love people and still have boundaries.
I can show up in ways that are healthy for me.
I can leave early.
I can skip the events that feel unsafe.
I can stop explaining myself.
And I can stop trying to prove that I’m “enough” to people who benefit from believing I’m not.
Because the truth is…the version of me that’s “doing well” shouldn’t be the only version that deserves kindness.
✌🏻
Love, Loops