Nothing makes me feel more dismissed, more unseen, than hearing, “It’s not that deep.” Those words feel like an erasure, like they’re taking all my thoughts, my emotions, my very perspective, and shrinking it down to something insignificant. It’s as though they’re telling me that what I’m feeling isn’t worthy of reflection or conversation — that my experience of the world is too much, that I am too much.
To them, maybe it’s simple, a passing thought not worth exploring. But to me, it’s real. It’s the product of sleepless nights spent untangling emotions, of the silent hours when I’ve tried to make sense of the mess inside me. When someone says, “It’s not that deep,” they’re erasing the quiet moments I’ve spent alone with my feelings, the effort it takes to look inward, the courage to confront parts of myself that I don’t even fully understand. They’re dismissing the very things that make me who I am.
It’s easy to stay on the surface, to skate past the things that are uncomfortable or complicated. But I can’t help that I see the world in layers, that I feel things deeply, that I’m drawn to the why and the what-if of everything. I don’t want to be told to brush off what means so much to me or to trivialize the parts of myself that make me unique. Maybe my mind overthinks, maybe my heart feels too much — but that’s how I know I’m alive. That’s how I know I’m truly living, by allowing…