When Silence Became Preferable
There was a point when silence hurt less than conversation.
Not because I had nothing to say—but because I was tired of explaining myself to people who weren't really listening. Tired of clarifying needs that were repeatedly dismissed. Tired of negotiating for basic care.
Loneliness stopped feeling like punishment and started feeling like relief.
The Difference Between Alone and Unseen
I've learned that being alone and being unseen are not the same thing.
You can sit beside someone every night and still feel invisible. You can share a bed and still feel abandoned. That kind of loneliness cuts deeper than solitude ever could.
Being alone gave me space.
Being unseen took pieces of me.
So I chose the quiet.
Why Settling Felt More Dangerous
There was a time when I would have stayed simply to avoid the ache of absence.
But after everything I had learned, settling felt like a deeper betrayal. Pretending connection was enough. Accepting inconsistency as character. Calling emotional distance "normal."
I wasn't afraid of being alone anymore.
I was afraid of losing myself again.
Learning to Sit With the Ache
Choosing loneliness doesn't remove pain—it just makes it honest.
There were nights when the quiet echoed too loudly. When I wondered if I had made a mistake. When the absence felt heavier than the effort ever had.
But those moments passed.
And each time they did, I realized something important: I could sit with discomfort without running back to what harmed me.
That was new.
The Strength in Waiting
Waiting isn't passive.
It's intentional.
Waiting means trusting that connection should add to your life, not drain it. That love shouldn't require self-erasure. That presence without depth isn't enough anymore.
I'm no longer in a hurry to fill space.
I'm learning to let it stay open.
Hope That Doesn't Rush
I still believe in love.
Not the kind that rushes in to quiet loneliness—but the kind that arrives with clarity, safety, and mutual effort. The kind that doesn't punish boundaries or resent patience.
Until then, I choose this loneliness.
Not because it's easy—
but because it's honest.
And honesty has a way of making room for the right kind of love to eventually find its way in.
"For no one is cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love."