To the world,

You see a man—strong, unshaken, a fortress of resilience. A veteran, a father, a poet, a dreamer. You see the ink I spill, the laughter I share, the mask I wear in the daylight. You see the pieces I choose to show.

But do you see me? Do you really see me?

You call me tough because I have endured. You say I am lucky because I survived. But survival is not the same as living, and endurance is not the same as being whole. I have carried battles within my soul long after the battlefield was left behind. I have fought wars with silence, with memories, with ghosts that refuse to rest. And yet, when I speak of the weight of these unseen scars, the world shifts uncomfortably, as if pain should only exist where the eye can see.

They tell me to move on, as if grief is a door I forgot to close. They say love will come when I stop looking, as if my heart is a wound I refuse to heal. They say men should be strong, as if strength is the absence of suffering, rather than the courage to face it.

I am misunderstood in the way I love too deeply yet hesitate to trust. In the way I long for connection yet fear the sting of betrayal. In the way I wear my past like armor, yet beneath it, my soul is bare. I have stood in the fire and emerged—scarred, yes, but standing. And still, they see only the steel, never the burn marks beneath.

They misunderstand the way I dream. That I can be a warrior and a poet. That I can seek adventure yet crave stability. That I can love without surrendering my identity. They misunderstand that I am not lost, even when my road is winding.

But hear me now, world—I am not just the stories of my past, nor the expectations you place upon me. I am more than the mistakes I have made, the battles I have fought, the pain I have carried. I am the sum of my scars and my healing, my losses and my triumphs. I am not just a man who endures—I am a man who feels, who loves, who dreams, who dares to speak his truth.

And even if you misunderstand me, I will not silence myself to make you comfortable.

With strength and truth,
Kristopher Haeberlin