The Kindness of Not Explaining Myself

There’s a kind of peace I’m learning to choose one that doesn’t come from being understood, but from not needing to be. I used to explain everything. Why i was quiet. Why I left early. Why I cried at something small. Why I laughed too loud at something dumb. Why I didn’t text back. Why I did. As if I had to justify existing. As if every inch of me needed a disclaimer. But now? Now I’m learning that there is kindness in letting myself Just be. Without the footnotes. Without the nervous follow up text. Without narrating every internal shift like I owe someone a report on how I’m holding up. Because sometimes the most sacred thing I can do is say nothing. Not in silence meant to punish but in silence that protects. Some things don’t need to be explained. Some things are tender simply because they exist. And maybe I am one of them. So here I am, practicing the kindness of not explaining myself. Not because I don’t care but because i care too much to keep tearing myself open for people who don’t stay to understand anyway. If you get it, you get it. If you don’t- I’m still okay.