What the f*ck do I say?

What if I’m oversharing?

Note: This kicks off "We don’t talk about that," a series about the uncomfortable and overlooked parts of life we usually tiptoe around.

I talk. A lot, actually (for an introvert).

But it’s not the articulate kind of talking. It’s the awkward, oh-my-god-the-silence-is-so-loud-I-have-to-fill-it kind of talking. Like my brain hands the microphone to my mouth and just… leaves. Suddenly, I’m saying things I didn’t even know I was thinking. It’s unrelated, unfiltered, and spiralling, and I have no idea how to stop.

The weird part? I spend so much time having mental Olympics over things I never say out loud, you’d think talking would come naturally. Easy even.

But when it comes to talking about this? About how I feel? About what’s going on inside my head and body?

It feels like someone hit the mute button on my brain and turned up the static.

I get stuck in this weird loop:
“Am I oversharing?”
“Do I sound ungrateful?”
“Am I just complaining?”
“Is everyone rolling their eyes?”

Honestly, who programmed this soundtrack? Who decided that every time I open my mouth to say, “Hey, I’m struggling,” it should come with a remix of guilt, doubt, and shame?

I’ve thought about this a lot (in case you couldn’t tell), and I think I know where it comes from. Somewhere along the way, we were told:

• Talking about our pain is whining.

• Asking for help is weak.

• Admitting things are hard makes us too much.

And we believed it. We swallowed it down and let it live rent-free in our heads, even though it doesn’t belong there.

But here’s the thing: suppressing it and experiencing it quietly doesn’t make us brave or noble or resilient. It just makes us quiet.

It’s not wrong to speak up about what you’re going through. It’s not selfish or attention-seeking or dramatic. It’s just human.

You’re not “bad” at being sick if you don’t always have the perfect words to explain it. And you’re not “too much” for needing someone to listen when you finally find them.

If anything, we deserve medals for all the times we’ve said, “I’m fine,” when we were really screaming inside.

So, what the f*ck do you say?
You say what you need to.
Even if it feels awkward.
Even if it feels vulnerable.
Even if that stupid soundtrack tries to drown you out.

Because the only way to stop the cycle, the one where silence turns into shame, is to break it.

And if anyone doesn’t get it, that’s on them. Not you.

So, dear reader, what do YOU want to say?