The Illusion of Connection
There was a time when I mistook being needed for being loved.
When I believed that the more deeply I could understand someone—their pain, their patterns, their silences—the closer we must be. It made sense. I was the mirror, the listener, the one who didn’t flinch when the truth showed up ugly. People gravitated toward that. They called it connection.
But now I know better.
Seeing someone clearly—being able to name their wounds before they’re ready to—is not the same thing as being seen. In fact, it often guarantees the opposite. People mistake your clarity for comfort. They mistake your intuition for consent. They mistake your capacity for connection. But the truth is, you can hold someone’s entire emotional landscape and still be invisible inside of it.
And that’s what broke me—not the seeing.
But being unseen while doing all the seeing.
When Reciprocity Is Missing
It took me a long time to realize that emotional labor is not love.
That closeness is not currency.
That being someone’s safe place is not the same as being someone’s choice.
What most people called intimacy with me was just access.
They knew I’d show up. They knew I’d hold space. They knew I’d know when something was off, often before they did.
But that knowing? That energy? That presence?
It came with no reflection. No return. No reciprocity.
They wanted a container, not a connection.
And I—being the emotional archeologist that I am—played the part well. Until I didn’t.
From Insight to Exhaustion
Because one day, the exhaustion outweighed the empathy.
One day, the insight didn’t feel like a gift—it felt like a leash.
And I started to wonder: what would it feel like to be met with the same level of attention I give so freely?
That wondering became grief.
And then clarity.
And then boundaries.
Now, I don’t apologize for pulling away from one-sided closeness.
I don’t offer my softness where it won’t be held.
I don’t confuse proximity with partnership.
Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we know each other now.
Just because I can see you clearly doesn’t mean you get to stay.
Depth Doesn’t Equal Debt
There’s a particular kind of isolation that comes with being emotionally intelligent in relationships that lack emotional maturity. You feel everything. You say the hard things. You hold the contradictions. You notice what’s not being said.
And in return, you’re often met with defensiveness, silence, or surface-level connection.
You’re too deep. Too intense. Too aware.
But what they don’t understand is—you’re not trying to be more. You’re trying to be real.
For a long time, I over-explained myself in the hopes that I would finally be mirrored.
I softened my words. I dimmed the volume. I carried others’ discomfort in my throat like it was my job to keep the peace.
But no more.
If someone feels attacked by my clarity, they’re not ready to sit in the mirror I’m holding.
And that’s not an invitation for me to smash it.
It’s a sign for me to set it down.
Reclaiming Intimacy On My Terms
Now, closeness looks different.
It’s quiet reciprocity.
It’s someone who doesn’t just show up when I’m in crisis, but checks in when I’m thriving.
It’s mutual emotional capacity—not one of us being the therapist and the other the client.
It’s presence. Not just attention.
I’ve let go of the idea that I need to be digestible in order to be deserving.
I’ve released the belief that emotional connection has to come at the expense of my peace.
And I’ve redefined what it means to be known:
Being known is not being explained. It’s being felt. It’s being held without needing to prove you’re worthy of holding.
Choosing to Be Seen, Not Just Seeing
There’s power in naming this shift.
In saying out loud that emotional availability is not an unlimited resource.
In knowing that access to me is not a right—it’s a reflection of how you show up.
I still see people clearly.
I still hold space where it’s earned.
I still love deeply, intuitively, fully.
But now, I love in both directions.
And if someone cannot offer that back, I don’t linger in the ache of it.
I walk away knowing this:
Seeing them was never the problem. But staying unseen? That’s not something I do anymore.