One demand after another — dishes, trash, groceries — all while I’m running on empty and trying to keep myself together for school. I’m told it’s entitlement if I don’t obey, but truth is, I’m exhausted. My family knows I’m not a girl, yet they still misgender me on purpose. It’s not confusion, it’s control — and it hurts. I’m not asking for much, just respect for who I am. I rarely cry, mates. Not because I don’t feel anything, but because it feels safer to bottle it all up than to let anyone see. Around my family, showing emotion just means being dismissed, mocked, or treated like I’m weak. So I keep it locked away, hidden behind silence, my phone, my bedroom walls. But when the tears finally come, they don’t stop quickly. I’ll cry for over a minute, sometimes longer, because it’s not just one thing... it’s everything I’ve been holding back. Every misgendering, every shout, every moment of being belittled or treated like I don’t matter. It all pours out at once, and it’s heavy. People think crying makes you fragile. I say it proves you’re human. It proves you’ve survived long enough to carry all that weight until it breaks through. I’m not broken, I’m not weak.. I’m exhausted from being erased and controlled, and crying is the only release my body allows me. So if you see me quiet, withdrawn, always on my phone or asleep, know this: it’s not laziness, it’s survival. And if you ever hear me cry, know that it’s not weakness... it’s resilience finally spilling over.

Parents need to understand this: whatever harm they cause, their children will always remember it. Our brains are still growing, still shaping, and every wound leaves a mark that doesn’t just vanish. I was told once by Mrs. Dickerson that we must ignore our trauma, not let it consume us. But how can I ignore it when I’m still in the middle of it? How can I pretend it’s gone when I live in a war zone of my trauma every single day? Trauma isn’t something you can switch off. It’s not weakness, it’s survival. And if I seem quiet, withdrawn, or exhausted, it’s because I’m carrying battles no one else sees.

My body’s not stable, my head’s not clear, and yet I’m expected to carry on as if it’s fine. I’m sharing this because I want to be honest. I’m not lazy, I’m not entitled — I’m struggling. And I need people to understand that being shouted at or threatened doesn’t make me stronger, it just makes me feel erased.