To You.

To You,

By the time you read this, I might have found the answers I’m searching for, or maybe I’ll still be lost in the same confusion. I don’t know. I never know. My thoughts keep twisting themselves into knots, and sometimes I think if I could just find the right thread to pull, everything would unravel and make sense. But I can never seem to find it. So here I am, writing to you in a moment when the weight of everything I feel is too much for me to carry on my own.  

I need you to understand something I can’t say aloud. And I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But the words get stuck in my throat, swallowed by this gnawing fear that if I speak them, I’ll ruin everything. You make me feel things that I can’t explain—things that shake me to my core and make me want to run away, even as I crave to stay closer than I’ve ever allowed anyone to get.  

I’ve always felt like I’m different. Like there’s something wrong with me, something that makes the way I love, the way I connect, feel out of place. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my whole life watching everyone else—how easily they move through relationships, how effortlessly they understand one another, how simple everything seems. It’s like they’re all playing a game with the same rules, and I’m stuck in a world where I don’t know what those rules are. I hesitate when I speak. I second-guess every word, every action. And every time I think I understand what someone wants, I find out I’ve misread it, somehow.  

But with you, it’s different. With you, I can almost breathe. But it’s still terrifying. Because when you give me that support, when you tell me, “You can do it” or “I’m proud of you,” it hits me harder than I ever expect it to. I can feel my chest tighten, and suddenly my eyes are full of tears, the kind that I can never stop, even though I don’t understand why I’m crying.  

It’s because no one ever told me those things. Not the way you say them. My parents... they gave me everything. Material things, a good education, comfort, security. They gave me all the things I was told were important, all the things that made my life “good” by the world’s standards. But they never gave me the one thing that would have made all of that matter—their support. Their love. Their belief in me. They never told me I was enough, that I was worth something just for being me. They never said they were proud of me, no matter how hard I tried.  

And so, when you tell me those things, I feel like I’m being swallowed by something I don’t know how to handle. I don’t know how to take them in, how to believe that I deserve them. It makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I’ve never dared to imagine—a place where I am enough, as I am. But it also terrifies me. I feel unworthy of it, because how could I deserve something so simple, something so... pure?  

I think maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me to accept it. When you tell me, “You can do it,” it feels like a foreign language. It feels like a kindness I haven’t earned, like something too big for someone like me. I’ve spent so much of my life believing I wasn’t enough, believing I’d never be enough, and now I don’t know how to let that go.  

And yet, I crave it. I crave the belief you have in me, the way you make me feel like I could actually be capable of something. But I also push it away, because I don’t know how to accept that love, that support. I don’t know how to let someone be proud of me without feeling like I’m somehow failing them, without feeling like I’m one step away from disappointing them in a way I can’t fix.  

But I want to. God, I want to.  

I want to believe that maybe this time, this love, this connection, could be different. But at the same time, I’m so afraid that I’ll ruin it. That I’ll be too much, too complicated, too much of a mess to ever really be someone you could rely on.  

Because that’s the other thing—I’ve never been able to trust that love will stay. I’ve seen how quickly people can walk away when they realize you’re not who they thought you were. And it’s not just in relationships, it’s in everything. The people closest to me have always walked away, not physically, but emotionally. They’ve left me to navigate the world on my own, without the safety net I needed. Without the support that could have helped me grow into someone who believes she is worthy of love.  

I want you. I want you in a way that is so much more than words can express. But I’m afraid. Afraid of being too much, too loud, too empty, too broken for you to want to stay. Afraid that my love is not the kind you deserve.  

But what I do know is that, despite all the doubts, despite all the confusion and fear, there is something real here. Something that I can’t explain, but something I know is true. My heart is full of it, even when I don’t know what to do with it.  

If you ever find this letter, I hope you understand. You are the first person who’s made me feel like maybe I’m worthy of being loved, truly loved. And that’s terrifying. Because no one has ever made me feel that way before.  

You’ve given me something that I never thought I would have—something I wasn’t sure I would ever deserve. You’ve made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could be enough.  

And even if I can’t ever say it the way you need to hear it, even if I can’t show it the way I want to, you’ve changed me in ways I can never repay.  

I will always remember you. Always.  

Forever, 

Me