Attachments.

I’ve learned that attachment isn’t something I hate—it’s something that scares me.

Growing up, I always imagined having a family of my own. But somewhere along the way, fear crept in. The kind that makes you question whether you can truly commit, not because you don’t care, but because you care deeply.

I don’t dislike relationships. I dislike the uncertainty that comes with them. I dislike the idea of people leaving. I dislike the thought of promises changing, of “forever” becoming conditional. And maybe that’s why attachment feels heavy—because it asks you to hope without guarantees.

I’ve realized that my discomfort with attachment isn’t about independence or emotional distance. It’s about safety. It’s about wanting consistency, intention, and emotional presence without having to guess where I stand.

I don’t believe love has to be proven by constant communication, but I do believe reassurance should have substance. Words matter, but they need to be backed by action. Effort, even in small forms, makes love feel secure.

What I want is simple, even if it feels rare: intentional love. Consistent love. A love that feels like friendship, not performance. A love where my inner child can be free—without rules, pressure, or emotional confusion.

I’m learning that it’s okay to desire connection while still honoring my boundaries. It’s okay to want closeness without rushing permanence. And it’s okay to admit that attachment feels scary when you’ve learned how deeply loss can hurt.

Maybe this season isn’t about rejecting love—but about redefining it.

Learning that love doesn’t have to overwhelm to be real.

That attachment doesn’t have to mean losing yourself.

And that feeling deeply isn’t a weakness—it’s a responsibility.

I’m still learning.

Still unlearning.

Still choosing honesty over fear.

And maybe that’s enough for now.