Smiling While Drowning

“Smiling while drowning is not strength. It’s self-abandonment.”

There is a version of me people know.

He’s charismatic.

He’s strong.

He’s articulate.

He leads well.

He makes people laugh.

He shows up.

That version of me has walked into rooms emotionally empty… and still energized everyone inside of them.

He has led meetings while mentally spiraling.

He has empowered others while crumbling by the second.

He has stood on stages, spoken life into people, and then gone home feeling like he was disappearing.

That version of me was smiling.

While drowning.

The Performance Became Survival

At first, it was survival.

I smiled because I didn’t have the capacity to explain what was happening inside of me.

I smiled because people needed something from me — and I had built an identity around being the one who delivered.

I smiled because it felt easier than unpacking depression, grief, spiritual confusion, and the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t go away with sleep.

But somewhere along the way, survival turned into addiction.

I didn’t just smile to protect myself.

I smiled because I didn’t know who I was without it.

The Cost of Being “Strong”

People would tell me:

“You’re fine.”

“You’re so strong, you’ll be okay.”

“God won’t put more on you than you can bear.”

They meant well.

But those words made me feel more alone.

Because there were moments I was mad to be alive.

Not because I didn’t value life —

but because living inside constant emotional misery is exhausting.

And when someone responded to that exhaustion with a cliché Bible verse, it didn’t heal me.

It triggered me.

I was born and raised in the church.

I’ve read the Bible.

I’ve studied it.

So when someone threw a verse at me instead of sitting with me —it felt like dismissal disguised as spirituality.

It made me feel emotionally unsafe.

Like my pain needed to be corrected instead of understood.

And the more I smiled through it, the more it cost me.

It cost me sleep.

It cost me faith.

It cost me trust.

It cost me self-respect.

It cost me self-worth.

It created distance in relationships that mattered to me —because I was performing strength instead of living honestly.

“Healing cannot happen where performance lives.”

Fear Is a Powerful Mask

I kept smiling because I was afraid.

Afraid to lose people.

Afraid to lose influence.

Afraid to look weak.

Afraid to be abandoned again.

I’ve lived through neglect.

Through betrayal.

Through the kind of loss that doesn’t just hurt — it restructures you.

When you’ve lost people you love unexpectedly…

when you’ve been let down by parents…

when friends have stabbed you in the back…

You learn how to perform stability.

Because the fear of more loss becomes paralyzing.

And I became so used to being the Ra’Mone people needed me to be…

that I forgot how to be the Ra’Mone who needed help.

The Night I Didn’t Want to Smile Anymore

There were nights I didn’t feel strong.

There were nights I didn’t feel spiritual.

There were nights I felt emotionally and mentally unsafe inside my own mind.

And the scariest part wasn’t the drowning.

It was how good I had gotten at pretending I wasn’t.

Emotional Honesty

Here is the truth:

I was not fine.

I was not always strong.

I was not always okay.

And smiling did not make me resilient.

It made me silent.

It made me unavailable to myself.

It made my pain harder to detect — even for me.

Smiling while drowning is not strength.

It’s self-abandonment.

A Declaration

So let this be the moment I stop performing strength.

Let this be the declaration:

I will not hide my humanity to protect other people’s comfort.

I will not reduce my pain to inspirational soundbites.

I will not accept spiritual clichés as substitutes for real presence.

I will not keep smiling when I am drowning.

If I am struggling — I will say it.

If I am exhausted — I will admit it.

If I am grieving — I will honor it.

If my faith is under construction — I will stop pretending it isn’t.

Because healing cannot happen where performance lives.

And I am no longer willing to perform.

For Anyone Who Feels Like They Have to Be “The Strong One”

If you are the dependable one…

the leader…

the funny one…

the spiritually grounded one…

But inside, you are barely holding on —

You are not weak.

You are tired.

And you are allowed to stop smiling long enough to breathe.

This is not a triumphant ending.

It’s an honest one.

And honesty is where healing begins.

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This is Part 3 of the Rising Through The Fire series.

Read Part 1: The Light I Didn’t Know I Was Carrying

Read Part 2: The War No One Saw Me Fighting

“I was not fine.”