Happy Pretending: The Performance We Didn’t Audition For

Happy Pretending: The Performance We Didn’t Audition For

I used to wear honesty like a badge.

What you see is what you get.

No filters. No facades. Just me unapologetically raw, real, and rooted.

But life has a way of testing that honesty.

Not with dramatic betrayals or grand failures, but with the slow erosion of self.

The kind that comes from smiling when you’re breaking,

Showing up when you’re drowning,

and looking flawless when you feel like a fraud.

Every day, I perform.

Not on a stage with lights and applause,

but in boardrooms, classrooms, WhatsApp chats, and neighbourhood strolls.

I show up poised, polished, and put together

because someone needs me to be.

My child.

My parents.

That little girl who watches me walk past her gate like I’m everything she hopes to become.

They see strength.

They see grace.

They see hope.

And so I smile.

Not because I’m okay,

But because they need me to be.

But let’s talk about the other performance, the one that stings.

The one where I meet people who want me gone.

People who would dance on my grave if given the chance.

And instead of confronting them with the truth,

I serve charm.

I offer grace.

I pretend.

Not because I’m weak.

But because I’ve learned that power sometimes wears pearls

and speaks in measured tones.

Still, the truth bubbles beneath the surface.

I want to scream.

I want to fight.

I want to stop pretending.

But here’s the paradox:

Pretending is not always hypocrisy.

Sometimes, it’s a strategy.

Sometimes, it’s survival.

Sometimes, it’s the only way to protect what matters

While preserving the parts of you that haven’t yet healed.

So yes, happy pretending.

Not because we love the mask,

But because we’re still learning how to live without it.

Next time, we will talk about those who think they are using us

Yes, we see them, we know

But we smile for the camera.

In a world of diplomacy and composure,

We are all actors.

And the curtain never falls.

To the ones who feel this in their bones,

You’re not alone.

Your truth is valid.

Your exhaustion is real.

And your performance, however painful, is a testament to your strength.

But when you’re ready,

Step off the stage.

Take off the mask.

And let someone see you really see you.

Because behind the performance is a person.

And that person deserves to breathe.