dagger in disguise: when pretty words turned ugly

what do you do when tenderness turns into a trap?

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there was a time i held onto your compliments like keepsakes—soft, pretty, fading slowly. the “you’re so mature for your age” felt like praise, not pressure. the “i’m just trying to protect you” sounded like care, not control. the “you’re too sensitive” seemed like a joke, not a dismissal. i didn’t notice at first. you spoke so softly, so carefully, it almost felt like love. almost.

i kept going over everything, trying to figure out the moment it changed; when care turned into control, when softness started to sting. and maybe the saddest part is that i still wanted to believe it was love. i kept trying to romanticize restraint, to find poetry in something that only ever left me shrinking.

one of my new fav pics btw :)

and yet, what lingers is not rage, but silence. not heartbreak, but the ache of being shaped into someone softer just to be held a little longer. like i had to earn affection by being easier to carry. and no one noticed the cost. but gosh, i wish someone had.

not all wounds bleed; some just echo.

at first, it sounded like care, like softness. i didn’t notice how their words began to wear me down, how their “kindness” asked me to shrink. i told myself the pain was part of being wanted.

now, i listen not just to what is said, but how it makes me feel. not all compliments are kind. not all apologies are honest. and not all “i love you”s mean safe. we weren’t crazy, but it’s wild, isn’t it? the way we hold onto words like they meant forever. the way we reread old messages late at night, trying to convince ourselves it was love, not something colder. that the silence was comfort, not distance. i think i wanted to believe it was special. that i was the muse, the one who stood out. but maybe… i was just background noise.

there were days i swore your voice could soften stone. but now i wonder—was it charm, or was it strategy?

because the most dangerous kind of pain doesn’t always come with a raised voice. sometimes, it comes with a calm explanation, a tilted head, and a thousand gentle reasons why you’re wrong for feeling hurt.

i don’t want kindness that comes with conditions. i don’t want to be told i’m too sensitive just because i feel things deeply. i don’t want to keep questioning myself after every conversation, wondering if i read it wrong. i’m tired of clutching love that feels more like an obligation. i don’t want to be loved only when i’m easy to digest.

i want care that doesn’t confuse me. i want to be understood without having to explain every part of myself. i want to be met where i am—not filtered, softened, or rewritten into someone else’s narrative. i want to be held in the moments i’m not easy to love. i want space to be messy, real, honest—and still chosen. i want love that lets me breathe.

so maybe i’m done begging words to mean more than they do. maybe i’m finally learning that softness shouldn’t sting, and love shouldn’t leave me guessing.

maybe i let myself be loud, honest, and emotional without apology. maybe i’ll stop shrinking to fit inside someone else’s comfort zone and start expanding into my own.

and maybe now, i’ll stop trying to be understood by the wrong ones and start becoming someone i understand deeply.

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thank you for reading this piece. if this resonated, maybe it was meant for you. your thoughts are always welcome here—don’t be shy, write me back! i’d love to know what it stirred in you. - yulia <3