When the outside shines even though the inside struggles

There are days when I am strong, productive, organized, and functional for others.

And there are days when I am all of those things...

but feel empty inside.

For a long time, I believed that you are only truly exhausted when it is visible.

When you stand still, cry, fail.

But today I know: You can function and still feel empty.

Smiling and still struggling.

Achieving, talking, planning—while inside something completely different is happening, the inside is struggling.

My highly functional depression disguises itself well.

Even from myself.

It's not a breakdown, but a constant running on—with tired legs.

I smile, I manage, I take care of things—and yet everything takes more energy than I want to show.

Than I want to admit.

Like a shadow that moves with me, even when the light shines from outside.

And then I remember.

A place. A moment. A journey. Thailand.

The beaches, the gentle sound of the waves, the light playing with the water.

The sea—it doesn't know my thoughts, but it calms them.

It doesn't judge. It carries.

Or Vietnam.

So green, so intense, so alive.

A country full of movement that grounded me at the same time.

The soft light over Ninh Binh. The wind on the summit of Fansipan. The voices on the side of the road,

the smile of a stranger, or the coffee that needed no words.

The peaks, the rivers, the roads—they reminded me of something I often forget in everyday life:

That I am here.

That I feel.

That I can breathe.

These memories are not an escape. They are an anchor. They are quiet sources of energy.

Sometimes hard to grasp, sometimes suddenly very close.

They tell me: You were there. You felt yourself. You are more than your inner fog.

I still draw on that.

Sometimes I think this supply is inexhaustible—sometimes I forget it's even there. And I often wonder why I don't make myself aware of it more often.

But when I become still, just for a moment, when I see a photo, hear a voice, smell a spice—then it reappears:

A spark. A source of strength.

A quiet proof that there is still light inside me.

That my inner life is not lost—it has just become quieter. And it is fighting.

I am learning to be more aware of this. Not just to function, but to feel.

To remember that I am allowed to grow—even slowly.

Even with setbacks.

And that it doesn't always take a new adventure to feel alive again.

Because what seems so easy when traveling—mindfulness, genuine experience—is often just a memory away.

And sometimes a memory is enough to keep going.