They Complimented My Strength ... While I Was Drowning

The disconnect between what they see… and what it costs you to be seen that way.
I remember standing on the red carpet at the Saudi Film Festival.

Not as a filmmaker.
Not as an honoree.
As the guy holding the mic, interviewing everyone else.

I was dressed sharp. I looked healthy.
Fit. Fresh. Put together.

Sixty-five kilos lighter.
Fresh off a Universal Studios gig.
Modeling a little.
Back in Hollywood.
People assumed I was soaring.

A friend ... a fellow Saudi ... caught my eye and smiled wide.
“Living the dream, my man. Wow.”

And I smiled back. Because what else could I do?

He meant it kindly.
He meant it like a compliment.
Like I had made it.

But in my head, I wanted to say,
You’re the one on the red carpet, remember? I’m interviewing you.

I didn’t say it. I just smiled.

Because part of me knew what he meant.
I wasn’t just in the spotlight.
I was standing in a city where dreams were made.
To them, my opportunity was bigger.
More glamorous.
More “real.”

But they didn’t see what it took to keep standing.

They didn’t know I was spending the last of my Universal paycheck just to be there.
That I gave myself six months before the money ran out.
That I was applying to flight attendant jobs ... not out of passion, but survival.
That I wasn’t chasing my dreams anymore… I was treading water in designer shoes.

They saw strength.
I felt panic.

And here’s the thing ... they weren’t wrong.
I was strong.
My neurologist told me that once. That I was stronger than 80% of her patients.
Not because I healed quickly.
But because I refused to disappear.

“You’re a success story,” she said.
“I want people to see you. To believe again because of you.”

And I did it.
I smiled. I walked. I posed. I succeeded.
In 2019, I stood on James Corden, the Saudi success story, the face of resilience.

And no one ever saw the debt behind the smile.
The heartbreak behind the headlines.
The illness, the fear, the pressure to keep performing even after the curtains closed.

They weren’t wrong to call me strong.
They just didn’t see the weight of what I was holding.

And maybe… neither did I.

We talk a lot about strength like it’s a badge.
But sometimes, it’s a mask.
And sometimes, it’s both.

So if you’ve ever been praised for holding it together ...
while secretly holding your breath…

If they called you brave,
but you were just trying not to fall apart…

You’re not alone.

They saw your surface.
You survived the undertow.

And that’s the kind of strength I wish we talked about more.