Real pain is sitting down and crying about yourself, about your life, about how everything just doesn’t feel okay anymore. It’s not always about one person or one specific thing. Sometimes it’s the weight of everything piling up at once, the exhaustion, the disappointment, the things you never say, and the version of yourself you barely recognize anymore. You cry because you’re tired of pretending you’re fine, and for a moment, there’s nothing left to do but let yourself feel it all.
Some men will say, "I'd destroy any man who treated my daughter like that," while treating someone else's daughter exactly like that. The disconnect will never make sense to me.