I don’t want them back.

I’m not crying over old texts.
I’m not fantasizing about reconciliation.
I’ve outgrown all of it—the chaos, the silence, the pretending.

But still… there’s a quiet fear that lingers.
Not because I miss the man.
But because of what being with him did to my sense of safety in love.

---

I’m not grieving the man.

I’m grieving the impact.

Because when you’ve loved people who:

• Lied to you
• Took from you
• Let you carry all the weight
• Abandoned you when you needed real partnership

…your body remembers.

It stores that pain in your nervous system.
And the next time love even looks like it’s on the horizon?

Your thoughts whisper:

“Is this going to hurt too?”
“Can I trust myself to choose better?”
“Will it be different this time?”

---

That hesitation?
It’s not dysfunction.
It’s wisdom.

I’m not gun-shy because I’m weak.
I’m gun-shy because I handed my heart to people who didn’t protect it.

One man drowned in addiction and made me carry both of us.
Another wore stillness like a mask and made me bleed quietly.

They didn’t just betray my love.
They betrayed my ability to feel safe in connection.

---

So now, when someone kind shows up—or when something starts to stir again—
my instinct isn’t to leap.

It’s to pause.
It’s to ask:

“Am I safe here?”

That’s not fear talking.
That’s self-protection earned through experience.

---

Healing hasn’t been about forgetting the past.
It’s been about retraining my body to believe that love can feel different.

That it doesn’t have to look like over-functioning.
It doesn’t have to mean carrying someone else’s wounds.
It doesn’t have to come with secrets, shutdowns, or emotional exhaustion.

---

So what do I do now?

I say:

“I’m open to love.
But I’m going to move slower.
I’m going to choose better.
And I’m going to protect my peace while I figure out who’s safe.”

I’ve stopped calling that fear.
I call it discernment.

I’ve stopped rushing to trust.
I’m learning how to let someone earn it.

And I remind myself:

I’m not broken.
I’m rebuilding my capacity to love with wisdom and strength.

---

And when love does arrive—
The real kind, the grounded kind, the kind that doesn’t ask me to shrink—

I’ll know.

Because this time?

It won’t confuse me.
It won’t drain me.
It won’t ask me to carry it.

It’ll meet me—finally—on the same level.

And I’ll say yes.
Not because I’m trying to heal something…

But because I already have.