The Armor of Logic

It’s 1:30 AM, and I know I’m overthinking again.

There comes a point in some people's lives where emotion becomes too risky, too volatile, so they retreat into their minds. Not because they don’t feel, but because they feel too much. And when feeling has once led to pain, embarrassment, or abandonment, the mind steps in like a soldier. It builds defenses. Rationality. Control. Logic. Suddenly, thinking becomes a shield.

You start overanalyzing conversations, replaying silence like it’s a riddle to be solved. You try to predict outcomes, manage expectations, explain away your feelings before anyone can ask. Not because you’re cold, but because logic is tidy, and emotions rarely are. It’s not that you don't want to connect, it's that you fear the cost of being unguarded.

And so, the armor stays on. You become the person who understands everything and expresses nothing. You’re calm in the storm, but numb in the quiet. People admire your composure, your insight, your “wisdom”, but deep down, you wonder if anyone really sees you. If anyone realizes that behind all the logic is someone just aching to be held without being dissected.

But the truth is, no amount of thinking will ever replace what feeling can offer. Logic can guide you, but it can't complete you. Because love isn't a formula. Healing isn’t a process you can optimize. Grief doesn’t come with instructions. The things that make us most human are messy, vulnerable, unexplainable, and that’s what makes them beautiful.

One day, someone might come along who doesn’t want your analysis, they’ll want your truth. They’ll ask you how you feel, not what you think. And that might terrify you. It might make you want to retreat even further into your mind. But if you’re brave enough to take off the armor, even for a moment, you might find that being felt is far more powerful than being understood.

And maybe that’s what we’re all really craving, not to be figured out, but to be felt. To be known not by the clarity of our words, but by the quiet honesty we keep buried behind them.