The one who hid behind a smile

They often say that a smile is a formidable weapon. But sometimes, it's just a well-honed mask. I'm an expert at it. I've learned to paint a reassuring expression on my face, even when inside, everything is in turmoil. Since losing my parents, this smile has become my armor. A reflex. A " everything is fine " quiet that avoids awkward questions and allows me to move forward without alerting the world around me.

I learned to smile so as not to disturb others, so as not to show them that sometimes life, after a loss, seems much heavier to bear. After all, who wants to hear about grief when you can exchange smiles and jokes, right? Because deep down, that smile becomes a small protective barrier, a way to mask what's hidden beneath.

It's not that I don't want to cry. Of course I do. But there's this little thing inside me that says: " Not now ". As if expressing these emotions, these tears, was disturbing the order of things, as if the pain had to remain well hidden. Yet, I know that sometimes, it is precisely this pain that must come out. Smiling is only a mask, a shield, not a solution. But every day, I choose to wear this mask. Because it is easier, more practical, less complicated than admitting that we are drowning under waves of emotion.

That said, there are also those moments when the mask finally falls. When you run into a friend, they ask a question, and you realize you've accumulated so many "I'm fine"s that there's no more space for a " Really ? " And it's there, in those moments, that we realize that this forced smile becomes a prison. Because deep down, this smile is not just an act. It's a way of not showing others that we feel lost. It's a way of protecting those around us, but also, at the same time, of protecting ourselves. Because, let's be honest, admitting that we're not well is also accepting that we have to face things we would rather ignore.

The problem is that playing this game is a bit like juggling grenades with the pins pulled. By accumulating, hiding, and pretending, it ends up exploding at the worst possible moment, at the slightest annoyance.

So maybe one day I'll let myself go to this "it's not going well". Because in reality, showing vulnerability isn't being weak, it's just being human.

In the meantime, I keep smiling. Not to lie, but to remind myself that I'm doing my best.

Because, ultimately, allowing yourself to show your vulnerability isn't a sign of weakness. It's an act of courage. And maybe one day, I'll be ready to let go of that frozen smile and be more real, more authentic.