The Confession of Miss Sunshine

There is something so inherently taxing about being a woman.

Or maybe that is just my period talking.

Yes, I said that out loud. Publicly. As if it is some radical act to acknowledge the simple biology of existing in a female body. I have never understood why we are made to whisper about something that visits us every month like a recurring storm. One week out of four. One quarter of our lives. And emotionally? Let’s just say I was not surprised to discover that there are barely two weeks in a cycle where a woman truly feels like herself, balanced, clear, steady.

Imagine living in a body that feels like it is negotiating with you half the time. Half the time. That is not poetic exaggeration; that is arithmetic.

If you are a girl reading this, consider this your validation.
If you are a man, thank you for trying to imagine it. But trust me, it is heavier than imagination allows.

Still, this is not really about periods. Or even about womanhood.

This is about a confession.

I am tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, though i have not really been sleeping lately. Not the kind of tired you laugh about over coffee and call “busy.” I am the kind of tired that sits behind the ribs and hums quietly, like something unfinished. The kind of tired where i keep missing days unable to get out of the bed. And the most exhausting part? I am not really allowed to say that.

After all, I am blessed.
After all, I am Miss Sunshine.
Miss Positive.
My name literally means happiness.

Miss Felicity.

How ironic that a name can become a performance. And how painful that my name, one of my most favorite parts of my identity is loosing its yellow as it turns grey... minimalist maybe?

I wish I could formulate into words how hurt, burdened, and absolutely exhausted I have felt these past few weeks, or months, I am not even sure anymore. Time blurs when you are performing resilience. To the world, I have been exactly her. Smiling. Speaking. Achieving. Shining.

Even as I write this, I do not know if I will publish it. There is something terrifying about allowing words to exist outside of your own head. But I needed to say something. To put it into language so I do not feel insane. So that even if it is “not okay” for me to feel this way, at least now it exists.

It is real.

Lately, I feel the echo of that semicolon tattoo fight seared onto my hear again, figuratively of course. The battle has been knocking softly at the door of my life. And a part of me feels ashamed. Ashamed for being “weak” enough to feel it return.

“Come on, Felicity,” it screams. “I thought we were past this.”

But another part of me, and much younger version, is still there. I see her sometimes. She is hiding under a table, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. She whispers to herself that she will get through this. That she will become stronger. That even when the world sharpens its edges, she will keep shining.

She has always been so brave.

People ask each other “How are you?” every day. But how many of us are truly prepared for the answer: “I am not okay”?

It is not that I lack friends who would listen. I am surrounded by love. It is something else. A pressing weight in my chest that resists vulnerability. A voice that says, Don’t be dramatic. Don’t exaggerate. Don’t be selfish.

I have been told too many times that my pain was a fabrication. That I was too sensitive. That I was overreacting. So somewhere along the way, I learned to compress myself. To shrink my emotions before they inconvenience anyone. To swallow tears before they become burdens.

The fear of becoming “too much” has shaped me in ways I am only beginning to understand. but so very tired to comprehend

I have never really been someone who was allowed not to be okay at least not long enough to heal anyway. I was the middle child. Respect your elders. Look after your youngers. Be strong. Be composed. Be dependable.

But who looks after the me?

Sometimes I resent that I cannot just be. Not strong. Not inspirational. Not sunshine. Not full of enery and life. Just… human.

Anxiety? Depression? Burnout?
What is the word for feeling like you are standing at the axis of a rapidly spinning world, dizzy and disoriented, trying not to fall?

I feel stuck in the center of a whirlwind called life. Everything around me is moving, expectations, responsibilities, opportunities, applause, and somewhere in the rotation, I misplaced myself.

I keep telling myself its one thing then the other, my latest villain? well my graduation of course it is my graduation anxiety so i keep my stress focused on the job market but deep down even i should admit there is something wrong, very wrong

But maybe, just maybe, it is okay.

Maybe it is okay to not always shine.
Maybe it is okay to be more semicolon than exclamation mark.
Maybe it is okay to admit that happiness can coexist with heaviness.

Perhaps perfection was never the goal.

Perhaps the bravest thing Miss Sunshine can do is step into the shadows for a moment and say: I am not okay.

And trust that the world will not end.

Or maybe it will. But even then, the girl under the table will rise, brush off her knees, and walk back into the light.

Not because she is unbreakable.

But because she has learned that being human was never weakness.

It was the point all along. Or maybe I just cant bear to leave you on a sad note where you feel sad and concerned for me and I am just tired and scared. Maybe survival was never meant to be part of the story.