It almost seems disciplined, well-controlled. Like steady hands pressing something down and pretending it does not move. Suppression, though, is seldom calm. It gasps beneath the surface.
People repress rage so as to appear mature. To appear strong, they fight tears. To appear real, they restrain dreams. Externally everything looks under control. Inside, pressure mounts like steam in a closed pot. The more it is pushed down, the more it looks for a fracture to flee.
Sometimes suppression seems required. Not all feelings needs expression. Not every idea needs to be verbalized. Wisdom is aware of timing. Continuous suppression, however, turns into self betrayal. It transforms real emotions into covert burdens. It replaces healing with silence.
What is repressed is not vanished. It changes.