49 - The Fear of Becoming What Hurt Me

I want connection. 

But I keep my distance.

Not because I’m indifferent

but because I remember what it felt like to reach out

and be met with absence.

I’ve been left behind in moments that mattered. 

And I carry that memory 

like a warning.

So I choose not to be anyone’s anchor. 

Not because I don’t care, 

but because I’m not sure I could stay if they needed me.

I still try, sometimes. 

I reach out. 

Start to open. 

But halfway through, 

I catch my reflection and see the weight I’m already holding. 

There’s not much room left for me to carry others

So I retreat. 

Not out of cruelty, 

but caution.

Yet strangely, 

I still carry the weight of my customers. 

Their grief, 

their stories 

It is light enough to hold, 

maybe because I’m not tethered to them. 

They don’t ask me to stay. 

They don’t expect me to save.

I can carry what doesn’t require permanence. 

What doesn’t ask for more than I have.

I want connection. 

But I fear becoming the same absence that once broke me.

So I keep my distance, 

not because I don’t want to be close, 

but because I know what it means to be needed and not be able to stay.

I’ve felt the weight of others when I was already drowning in my own. 

And I’ve seen what it does

how absence, 

even unintentional, 

can leave a scar deeper than silence.

So I choose not to be anyone’s lifeline until I know I won’t fray when they reach for me. 

Until I lay down some of my own burdens, 

until I clear space to hold someone else’s without collapsing, 

I’ll remain at a distance.

Not because I don’t feel

but because I feel too much 

to risk becoming the very wound I once carried.

When I’m ready, 

I’ll step closer. 

But only when I know I can stay