📚 To Those who Misjudged ME

 

📚

To Those who Misjudged ME

• To those who saw my reaction but never asked about the reason.

To my friends who misread me, and to my family who never asked;

You saw the anger.
You felt the attitude.
You heard the tone.
But you never asked what broke me first.

You judged the reaction,
but never paused to understand the pain behind it.
You labeled me difficult, dramatic, distant;
when all I wanted was to be seen,
to be heard,
to be understood.

I was hurting.
And hurt doesn’t always speak in soft words.
Sometimes it screams.
Sometimes it lashes out.
Sometimes it builds walls because it’s tired of being knocked down.

I didn’t need correction; I needed compassion.
I didn’t need silence; I needed someone to say,
"I know you’re not okay. Talk to me."

But instead, I was met with distance.
With judgment.
With assumptions.
And that silence hurt more than the original wound.

They always saw me as the bad one. The difficult one. 

The one with the attitude. No one ever stopped to ask why. 

I was constantly compared to my twin sister; her works, her silence, her softness. 

And somehow, that made her the favorite. 

People chose her over me without ever trying to understand me. 

They didn’t see the battles I was fighting, the hurt I was carrying, 

the strength it took to speak up when I felt invisible. 

I wasn’t trying to compete; I was trying to survive. 

But in their eyes, I was always too much, too loud, too complicated. 

And that comparison didn’t just hurt; it erased me.

I’m not writing this to blame you.
I’m writing this because I’ve carried the weight of being misunderstood for too long.
And I need to let it go.

I need you to know that my anger was never about you.
It was about me;
trying to survive,
trying to protect myself,
trying to make sense of a world that didn’t feel safe.

I needed love that looked deeper.
I needed friendship that asked questions.
I needed a family that didn’t just see the surface.

But now, I’m learning to give that love to myself.
To ask myself the questions no one asked.
To forgive myself for the ways I reacted when I felt unseen.
And to forgive you, too; because maybe you didn’t know how to show up for me.

Still, I hope this letter reaches you.
Not to reopen old wounds,
but to help you understand the ones I never got to explain.

If you had looked closer,
you would have seen that my anger was just pain;
trying to be heard.

• Divine SB