don't let them steal your light

Being a giver in a world full of takers

There are times I wish I didn’t feel so deeply.

Wondering what it must be like to not feel suffocated by emotions — waterboarded by your own breath.

I can’t remember a time where my stomach didn’t feel twisted, or my chest compressed with fear and anxiety.

Questions are like spades in my mind digging for answers for days, months, and even years.

Every answer inspires a new question and I just keep digging and digging until I’m consumed with exhaustion – and only when I’m crying alone in my car at night going 20km/h over the limit and singing Jeff Buckley or Leonard Cohen do I realise that I’ve dug too deep and it’s time to stop.

So often, I’m disappointed.

I used to blame other people, but I wonder if I’m the one truly to blame.

Maybe if I learned to stop asking so many questions — to stop reasoning and trying to understand and figure out — maybe then I wouldn’t be so perpetually let down by the treatment of other people.

I’ve hidden myself from the world because I’m deeply afraid of being hurt.

I always give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even if my body doesn’t trust them.

I make excuses for their bad behavior because I understand that humans are complex.

My heart yearns to understand. I want to believe that someone wouldn’t do something so cruel, so thoughtless, so callous, so wrong, without a valid reason.

I’ve been cruel before, and it was because I was in a dark place. So when I see others acting in such a way, I empathise. I see their darkness, and wish to show them some light.

I often dismiss the fact that if there’s enough darkness, it will swallow the light – and my yearning to understand people often leaves me feeling drained and lifeless because I gave them my life force in the hopes they’d recover. Instead, they just stole my light from me — and I willingly gave it away.

“But your light is always replenished, right?”

Right. I always heal. I always recover. I’m strong and capable. Life is cyclical. Seasonal. So, why can’t I give you my light?

“Because deep down, you expect them to reciprocate the love and care and devotion you’ve shown — and when they don’t, you give and give and give, hoping that they’ll accept you the way you have accepted them, flaws and all. And when they don’t show that same level of understanding toward you, that same level of respect, it makes you question humanity, the purpose of relationships, your self-worth and your ability to respect your boundaries.”

Maybe the reason my heart yearns to understand other people is because I yearn to be understood as well.

Isn’t that what we all want?

We want people to understand us — to see us for who we are and love us anyway.

But I am tired of giving my gift of understanding, my gift of empathy, my sensitivity, and my light. I am tired of giving these gifts away to people who do not appreciate or reciprocate them. To people who do not want to respect them or protect them.

A relationship is mutual. It’s consistency and balance. It’s trust and loyalty. Without these elements, it’s not a relationship – it’s vampiric. One person feeds off another to give them energy to sustain themselves, and when they’re done, they walk away until they’re hungry again.

One’s a giver.

One’s a taker.

I’ve always been a giver, and I’ll be damned if I ever turn into a taker. That is the day you know I’m dead inside — a vampire.

No. I want to give when it’s appreciated and walk away when it’s not. I want to be firm with my boundaries, and at the first sign of disrespect, I want to be capable of gracefully saying “This isn’t for me, but I wish you all the best”. Even if I don’t mean it at the time. Even if I say it and hope they come to their senses and run after me. I want to say it to protect my future self from the heartache of hope.

Perhaps someone can make it up to me, with time and consistency.

But without those ingredients, it’s not my flavour.

My sensitivity is to be protected, and if someone cannot respect that, I’ll protect it myself until someone comes along who can.

Not because I necessarily want to, but because I must. Self-preservation is the only solution — and for now, that’s what I must do.