if I am a tree, then leaves are my connections in the world.

Unlike a tree, not all partings are natural. But whether they are or not, they never fail to wound me as though they were parts of my own body torn away. I’ve been called intense. When I love, I love with my entire being. I also think it’s too much, but unlike those outside me, I can’t just run away from myself.

Then hide yourself away

This I did for a great number of years. I was safe that way. I focused instead on those I knew I could trust—those who proved they were with me through everything—and I thought to myself, “surely I have no need to add to my tiny circle.”

But through chance, I found there was space in my heart for others, and it scared me to love with an affection so fierce and unbidden.

Boundaries

For all I knew and taught others about boundaries, when my own heart got caught, I was woefully incapable of applying them. I gave my all, and I lost myself—not just once, but again, then again, then again, and again.

And, you know, I deemed them worthy.

And they still are, each one, to me.

But I lost them all in the end, or I drained myself and lost them that way, and on this doomed path, I carved out pieces of myself and plastered them onto others, thinking they needed them more than I did.

Refinding

I relearned too late that friendships must undergo the baptism of time. After all this, I’ve had to shed faulty values. I am done taking the blame for everything, because not everything is my fault. I am done with people who have no wish to understand me, and would rather speculate, as though the little they see is all I am made of.

I am worthy, too.

Removing toxic people from my life

I’m awful at it. The thing is, I’m well aware of my own flaws (how numerous they are), my own tendencies toward toxicity. We all have them; I am no better. Perhaps it is that which makes me reluctant to close doors—because I am so in need of grace for my failings, I can’t easily bring myself to refuse it to another.

Over the last years, life has forced me into growth I’d rather not have undergone. I've gotten better at advocating for myself and speaking up for myself. I spent my entire life being silenced and voiceless, hiding myself away just to keep the “peace,” keep drama from upsetting my fragile mental health.

The change in speaking up has inevitably led to conflicts with those who are used to me remaining in a certain position, being a certain way.

Because it's not to say I’m good at it. In finding my voice, I can become brass and hurtful, and I’m still learning to speak up without harming the other. It’s like trying to speak with a voice rusty with disuse. It’s ugly and raw. I'm lucky because I have a husband who will tell me when I'm out of line with others and I can pull back, apologise, repair.

At the same time, there are certain aspects I know I can no longer tolerate.

It has led me to recognise that sometimes, though two people can try the best they can, their relationship is simply unhealthy. Their personalities and characters bring out the worst in each other; maybe it’s not necessarily either person’s fault—they just don’t work well together for one reason or another. Perhaps the most difficult part of this whole process is understanding this reality—that love is not always enough, that forgiveness doesn’t always (and shouldn't) lead to reconciliation, that sometimes, when trust is too broken, there is no going back, no matter how hard I have tried and wanted for it to work.

I am broken, and sometimes broken people break each other.

I’m still learning who I want to be, but I know this: that I will no longer be kept silent. I will no longer scream into a void. I will no longer waste time with anyone who chooses not to hear me, who gives me pretty words only and no action to back them up.

One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin,
    but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.
—Proverbs 18:24