Everything was fed to me in small doses — like cyanide. Never enough at once to call it what it was. Just subtle information here, a blatant conversation there, always among the same circle of friends. I felt like I was standing in infested shark water, smiling, trying not to bleed.
The hangouts started almost as soon as the “I do” did. People coming in and out of the house constantly — the grill going three, four times a week, no regard for weekday or weekend. I’d smile and try to make sense of how they all came together so easily, so often, doing the same thing over and over. It struck me as odd, even then. I couldn’t keep half of them straight. Every week felt like a fresh struggle just to remember who was who among the ones I’d supposedly already met.
I remember how flat the introductions were in the beginning. No warmth behind them. I felt like I could be standing in front of my biggest enemy and never know it, smiling back at a face that had already decided something about me.
I caught the weirdest comments sometimes — just close enough to hear, just vague enough to deny. I’d think, that wasn’t for me… but somewhere underneath, I knew it probably was. Hints. Little jokes that landed a beat too pointed. Looking back, I think someone was airing something out through a laugh instead of saying it to my face, more than once.
At the time, I told myself it was cultural difference. That time would soften it. That the outcast feeling was something I could out-wait, out-love, out-last my way through.
I don’t think there was ever enough time in the world for that.
What I know now is this: you can’t out-swim water that was never meant to hold you. I spent years treading it carefully, smiling so no one would see where I was bleeding, convinced if I just stayed graceful enough, long enough, the water itself would change.
It never does. Water stays water. Sharks stay sharks.
I found calmer water instead. I’m not bleeding in it anymore.
If you’re smiling through a room where you don’t feel safe to be yourself, I want to ask you something I wish someone had asked me: how long have you been treading water that was never meant to hold you?
You’re allowed to notice it. You’re allowed to name it, even if only to yourself. You don’t owe anyone a smile at the cost of your peace. And you’re allowed to go looking for calmer water.