I had to understand why I kept losing the things I loved most. The answer was uncomfortable.
There's a thing that happens when you're afraid of losing something.
You hold it tighter. You give more. You try to create conditions so perfect that there's no reason for anyone to leave. You pour yourself out completely — and then you wait. Silently. Desperately. For them to pour back into you the same way.
And when they don't, you don't understand why. Because you gave so much. Because you loved so hard. Because you did everything you thought love was supposed to look like.
What I didn't understand then was that I was loving people the way I needed to be loved — and expecting them to receive it as a blueprint. A hint. A mirror they would naturally reflect back.
They didn't. Not because they didn't care. But because nobody told them what I actually needed. Because I never told them. Because I thought love meant you shouldn't have to.
And so the cycle continued. I'd give. They'd receive it as just that — a gift, not a language. I'd feel unseen. I'd give more. They'd pull away from the weight of it. And I'd be left wondering what I did wrong when really the problem was what I never said.
A self-fulfilling prophecy. Built on silence and unspoken needs.
Understanding this didn't fix everything. But it cracked something open.
I stopped asking why don't they love me right and started asking why can't I just ask for what I need.
That's the uncomfortable part.
That's also the part that sets you free.