You know that feeling in your gut—that low-grade ache that shows up every time you think about the thing you swore you'd never tell anyone?
Maybe it's what you've been watching.
Maybe it's what you've been thinking.
Maybe it's the double life you've been living, hoping no one ever connects the dots.
You try to bury it, push it down, move on. But it keeps resurfacing.
What most of us don't realize is that the act of hiding—keeping secrets, maintaining the mask—isn't just a moral issue. It's a mental one too. Secrets don't just weigh on your conscience; they weigh on your mind.
They split you in half, drain your energy, and over time, start to reshape who you believe yourself to be.
Hiding always feels easier at first. It feels safer. "I'll deal with it later," we tell ourselves. "No one needs to know."
But every time you choose silence, the secret gains strength.
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