I’ve spent most of my life being the bright one.
The one who laughs first. The one who reassures everyone else. The one who finds the silver lining before anyone asks.
People like that version of me.
They expect it.
They rely on it.
But here’s the truth no one prepares you for:
Being the light is exhausting.
Not because joy disappears —
but because brightness is easier for other people than honesty.
I learned early that if I smiled through hard things, people felt safer.
If I made a joke, the room stayed calm.
If I turned pain into something palatable, no one had to sit with it too long.
So I got good at it.
Really good.
I became the person who could carry fear quietly
and hand everyone else the softened version.
But there’s a cost to that.
Because eventually —
even sunshine gets tired.
There are days when smiling feels heavy in my mouth.
Days when there isn’t a lesson, or a meaning, or a bow to tie around it.
Just fatigue.
Just pain.
Just waiting.
On those days, being told to “stay positive” feels less like encouragement and more like pressure —
like I’m only allowed to exist if I’m easy to be around.
And that hurts in a way that’s hard to explain.
People don’t always know what to do when the bright one dims.
They get uncomfortable.
They miss the version of you that made them feel okay.
You can see it in their faces:
She’s supposed to be strong.
She’s supposed to reassure us.
But strength doesn’t always look like optimism.
Sometimes it looks like honesty.
Sometimes it looks like rest.
Sometimes it looks like saying, I don’t have it today.
Here’s what I’m learning — slowly, imperfectly:
I don’t owe anyone my positivity.
Not as proof I’m coping.
Not as comfort for someone else’s fear.
I’m allowed to be tired.
I’m allowed to be quiet.
I’m allowed to let the light dim without apologizing for it.
That isn’t weakness.
That’s being human.
And some days, surviving is enough.
Mojo’s View
They think Mom is always bright.
I know better.
I know the days she moves slower.
The days her smile is practice.
The days she stares at nothing for a long time.
I don’t ask her to shine.
I don’t need her to explain.
I just stay close.
I press myself against her.
I breathe with her until the heavy part passes.
She doesn’t have to be sunshine for me —
I just need her.
Before You Go
If you’re here because you’re tired — really tired — you’re not alone.
This space exists for the days when you don’t feel strong, positive, or inspirational.
If you want to stay connected, you can:
Subscribe to get new posts when I’m able to write Visit the Resources page for support, comfort, and practical help Or check out Keep Mojo & The Mess Going if you’re able and want to support this space
No pressure. No expectations.
Just here — whenever you need it.
🤍
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