An Open Letter to Those Fighting Silent Battles

Dear You Fighting a Silent Battle,

I’ve been thinking about you lately. You, who keeps it together for everyone else. You, who smiles in photos but sometimes cries quietly when no one is around. You, who shows up to life even when your heart feels heavy. You may not know it, but that kind of quiet strength is something sacred.

Yesterday while checking my social media feed, I came across the heartbreaking news about Emman Atienza. I didn’t follow her on TikTok, but I remember watching her on Toni Talks when it was first released months ago. I can still recall how raw she was in that video, how she opened up the cruelty she faced online, about the pain she carried from childhood, the abuse she suffered from her yaya (nanny), and how she had mistaken that abuse for discipline. She grew up believing those painful words and moments were normal. And maybe that’s what broke me most when I watched her: seeing someone so young, so articulate, and so full of potential, trying her best to make sense of something no child should ever have gone through.

There was something about her that stayed with me. Maybe it was the way her words trembled between strength and fragility, or how she carried the weight of her story with grace. When I learned that she had taken her own life, it felt like the air went still for a moment. I felt that deep ache only empathy can bring. She was only nineteen. A mental health advocate who lost the fight against her own mind. It’s heartbreaking in ways that words can’t fully hold.

As a mother, it made me reflect on how protective I have become. I realized again why I find it so hard to entrust my children to anyone else. No one will ever love them the way I do. No one will ever guard their innocence the way I would. Emman’s story reminded me how easily a child’s world can change when love turns unkind.

She also reminded me of something else. That so many people carry invisible scars they never deserved. Pain that started in childhood and silently followed them into adulthood. It made me want to write this letter for you, the one who carries quiet battles that no one claps for, the one who smiles but is still healing.

I know some of you are haunted by old memories. Some are trying to forgive themselves for things they did just to survive. Some are exhausted from pretending. Some have learned to smile while breaking inside. Some of you are just trying to make it through another day without falling apart. You go to school, to work, to dinner, to sleep, and still, the battle never really ends. And yet, you smile. You post. You keep going.

If you’re one of them, I want you to know that I see you. I see the effort it takes to wake up and try again when everything inside you says not to. I see the courage it takes to keep showing up for others when no one seems to show up for you. You are not weak for feeling tired. You are not broken for needing rest. You are not dramatic for craving kindness. You are not weak for having pain. You are human. You are beautifully, painfully, and bravely human.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply exist…

To breathe through one more sunrise. To whisper, “not today” to the thoughts that tell you to give up. Staying is its own kind of victory.

I remember when I was still working in the corporate world, I used to put a sticky note on my cubicle whiteboard that says, “Every person fights a battle you know nothing about. Be kind, always.” I am not perfect, and I know that I can be easily triggered by anyone. So that note is a daily reminder to myself to be kinder, especially to those I don’t understand. Why? Simply because I want to be treated the same way. I want the world to be kinder to me.

If only the world were kinder. I wish people remembered that behind every screen is a living, breathing soul. Words can be lifelines or weapons. Choose them wisely. We don’t always know who is reading them, or what kind of battle they are barely surviving.

So if you are reading this right now, please hold on a little longer. You are not invisible. You are not unlovable. You are not a mistake. You are still here, and that means there is still time for light to find you again. Stay for that. Stay for the next laugh, the next song, the next good cup of coffee. Stay because the world needs your story, even if you haven’t found the words to tell it yet.

With quiet understanding,

Signed,
Jalyn

P.S.
If you or someone you know is struggling with dark thoughts or emotional pain, please reach out. You are not alone.

• United States: Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7.
• Philippines: You can contact NCMH Crisis Hotline at 1553 (landline), or 0966-351-4518 / 0908-639-2672 / 0917-899-8727 for Globe and Smart users.
• You can also visit findahelpline.com, which connects you to local hotlines anywhere in the world.

There is always someone willing to listen. Please stay.