There are things that will never be fully understood. Conversations that will never happen. People who will never see you the way you hoped they would. Versions of you that exist only in someone else’s memory, frozen in time, untouched by who you’ve become. Trying to correct all of that is exhausting. Letting it exist is different.

There’s a delicate line that can sometimes get blurred. It sits between caring about someone and carrying them. It can feel like the same thing. You show up. You listen. You give your time, your attention, your energy. You feel what they feel. You want things to get better for them. That’s a very noble thing. That’s caring. Carrying is quite different.

Let’s start with a story we like to tell ourselves. We like to believe we are in control. Not just a little, but deeply in control of our lives. Our plans, our direction, our outcomes. We map things out, set goals, create timelines, then convince ourselves that if we do everything right, life will follow the script.

Attachment isn’t love. It’s the fear of losing what you think you need in order to be okay.