The Day She Finally Stopped Pretending She Was Okay

She walked in alone.

Not angry.

Not raging.

Just… tired.

The kind of tired you don’t talk about because nobody’s asking. The kind that builds up quietly while you’re busy being “fine.”

She had been carrying everything by herself — the bills, the kids, the job, the heartbreak she never really processed, the pressure to keep going even on days when she didn’t know how.

She said she wasn’t sad, she wasn’t mad… just full.

Full of emotions she had no place to put.

When she stepped into the smash room, she didn’t swing right away.She stood there for a minute — gloves on, helmet on — staring at the bat like it was asking her permission to feel.

The first swing was light.

The second swing was harder.

By the fourth, her shoulders dropped like she’d been holding her breath for months.

She cried a little without meaning to.

Not the loud kind — the quiet kind that sneaks out when something in you finally unclenches.

After the session, she said:

“I didn’t know breaking something harmless could make me feel like I wasn’t breaking anymore.”

She left softer… lighter… like she had finally let her body say what her mouth never could.

Not fixed.

Not magically healed.

But released.

And sometimes, that’s enough to start again.