I feel everything deeply. That’s not new. What is new, though, is realizing how much I crave that depth even when it overwhelms me. Maybe that’s the contradiction of being me—I long for the very thing that often feels like too much.
My depth makes me wise, observant, intuitive. But it also makes me emotionally immature sometimes. I can be avoidant, too aware of every possible outcome before anything even happens. I’ll label things—situationships, friendships, conversations—not because I do or don’t understand them, but because I’m desperate to contain them. If it has a name, then maybe it won’t feel so big. Maybe I can put it somewhere and move on.
But life doesn’t work that way.
Feelings don’t care about labels. Neither does timing. We don’t always know how we’re going to feel, or where something is going to go. That’s the discomfort and the beauty of it all. My work now is to stop asking what is this connection? And start asking how can I deepen it? Stop scoping. Start showing up.
This is why my experience with a connection I have now has been so grounding. He sees the whole thing clearly. He sees that while my depth is my light, it also creates shadows I don’t need to walk in. And somehow, he’s not scared of that. He’s just… there. Present. And in his presence, I saw something I didn’t expect: myself. Not the overthinker, not the girl spinning out in a million directions—but the version of me that knows how to breathe. How to rest. How to be.
He was a mirror. But not the kind that distorts or demands. The kind that reflects back everything you forgot you already had. That’s why there is much beauty in just a connection. A genuine connection not bound to anything but growth and conversation. People have a way of showing us everything we’ve been needing to see and that’s why it’s so important to have them.
So here’s where I’m at: learning not to control every piece of the puzzle before it’s even made. Letting myself feel without trying to name it too quickly. Understanding that the lesson doesn’t come from obsessing over the outcome—it comes from moving through it.
I don’t have to be blind. But I also don’t have to be afraid.
I can just walk. Live. Let it be.
