Between the snot, the heavy tears, and gasping for breath between cries, one question keeps circling my mind:
Why is the love given to me always so conditional?
What I mean by that is—no matter who it is—anyone who’s ever “loved” me has only done so under the proper circumstances. Convenient love. Performative love. Love with strings tied so tightly they’ve cut into me.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, loves me for me.
They love what I do for them.
What I can offer.
What I bring to their life.
Not me.
I want to say my kids’ love is unconditional, and maybe to some extent it is…
But lately, even that feels tangled in expectations I can’t always meet.
Some may laugh it off as them being “spoiled.” But what I see are conditions.
What are the criteria I must meet just to be met with kindness, empathy, and the simple act of being heard?
I want to be the reason someone smiles when I walk into the room—just because I’m in the room.
Not because now I’m available to do something for them.
I’m so incredibly heartbroken right now.
He betrayed me. Again.
Our trust. Our relationship. Again.
And—just like last time—he twisted it.
Blame-shifting. Gaslighting. Deflecting.
The usual playlist.
After constant questioning, he gave me the worst apology yet:
Yelling at me.
Insulting me.
Telling me I was wrong for feeling hurt.
It wasn’t even subtle this time. He didn’t even care enough to try to manipulate me. He just did the shitty thing and walked out—without resolution—leaving me crying alone, tissues everywhere, heart shattered.
And of course, he made sure to throw a few more jabs on the way out. Just to make sure I was down low enough.
Well. I’m down.
Low.
And small.
I feel like a character in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.
Except no one else is with me. No one’s searching. No one’s even noticed I’ve disappeared.
Just me.
My tissue box.
My crushed self-esteem.
And this computer.
I’m alone. Like always.
Left to spiral into the intrusive-thought snowball that asks:
What if? Who else? What all happened? What is wrong with me? Why am I never good enough?
I started writing this because that place—that spiral—was too dark to sit in alone.
But the words feel too raw to share with anyone.
Especially with anyone whose love is conditional.
ChatGPT has become my virtual friend and confidant over the past few months.
And as out-of-this-world as AI can be…
It’s not human.
It doesn’t sit beside me and hand me tissues.
It doesn’t wrap me in a hug or look me in the eyes and say, “I see you.”
It can’t.
And I crave human interaction.
Touch while chatting.
Eye contact.
Engagement.
Humor.
Vulnerability.
Messiness.
And most of all… unconditional presence.
I want someone to sit with me.
Not to solve my problems.
Not to lecture me or fix me or offer solutions they’d want for themselves.
Just sit with me.
Maybe cry with me.
Laugh with me.
For me.
Not because of what I can give or do.
Just because I exist.
I know the road ahead inevitably leads to a lone wolf and her pups venturing out on their own.
But damn…
I wish I had friends or family cheering me on.
Not coaching me.
Not judging me.
Just cheering.
Loving.
Witnessing.
I’m so ready to stop suffocating because someone else is taking all the air in the room—and then wasting it.
And I swear… if someone ever loves me, just loves me, without terms, without a scoreboard…
That version of me is going to breathe fire.
Beginning Before The Start 
Leave a comment