When you see me, you see the finished article.

Washed, dressed, hair in place, make up on and a smile on my face.

But you don’t see what it takes to get there.

You don’t see me trying to muster the strength to open my eyes in the morning.

You don’t see me forcing my weary bones out of bed.

You don’t see me berating myself as I sob in the shower.

You don’t see me looking in the mirror as I question whether or not today is the day.

You don’t see me wracked with indecision on what to wear.

You don’t see me soothing my pain as I twist and pull out my hair.

You don’t see me apply make up in the hope it makes me disappear.

You don’t see me riddled with anxiety as I lurk in the doorway.

You don’t see me breathing deeply before finally pushing open the office door.

When you see me, you see the finished article.

But just because you don’t see the struggle, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

Just because you see me smile, it doesn’t mean it’s real.

How I look, is not how I feel.