Fake It Till You Make It

Fake It Till You Make It

Do they say fake it till you make it because eventually you start to believe in your own confidence?
Do they say it because the pretending becomes a kind of truth—or maybe just a distraction?

Is it about keeping yourself so occupied that you forget how sad you are? Forget how much you miss them?

I go about my day—working, adulting, doing all the things I’m supposed to do. To strangers, I probably look unaffected. I smile, I move, I function. But beneath the surface, the sadness is still there, tucked deep in my heart. Maybe this is what faking it looks like—going through the motions until, someday, the ache feels less sharp.

Is that what they mean? That one day I’ll realize the pain isn’t as heavy, the sadness not as constant? That I’ll be so busy living that the missing won’t consume me?

Maybe then I’ll realize the ache has eased. Maybe that’s when I’ll know I’ve “made it.”

But right now—77 days in—the ache is strong. The pain is fierce. I miss him with every breath. Outwardly, I may look fine, but inside there are aches, whispers, and a noticeable missing piece.

So yes, I’m faking it. And some days, I don’t even care if I ever make it—I just want the ache to ease.