I Am Enough — Even When It’s Disappointing

I am enough.
There is nothing wrong with me.

There are preferences. There are temperaments. There are nervous systems.
But I am not broken. I never was.

Only so many people will be able to meet me where I am — and that’s okay. The ones who can will feel like water. The rest will just pass through, like wind.
It doesn’t mean I failed.
It doesn’t mean I’m unlovable.

There are over seven billion people in the world. So the belief that no one could meet me is, frankly, false — even if it once felt true. That belief belonged to my wounded inner child. The one who learned that showing up too fully led to rejection, or abandonment, or punishment.

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The Stories That Still Echo

Even now, when someone offers support, a voice inside whispers:

“They only care because they’re paid.”
“They need you to be vulnerable so they can feel important.”

But when I look closer — that story falls apart.

My new therapist charges £35 an hour — she could easily find another client and earn more.
My manager at Barnardo’s has given me so much time, energy, and belief — not out of obligation, but because he sees something in me.
These people aren’t performing care. They’re offering it.

I’m learning to believe them. Slowly. Gently. Not blindly — but without rejecting it before it lands.

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Looking Back

Maybe I have withdrawn. Maybe I have missed opportunities. Or maybe I’ve shown up more vulnerably than ever before — and the truth is, some people couldn’t meet it. Maybe I scared them with my openness. Maybe I made them feel things they weren’t ready to face in themselves.

And that’s not mine to carry.

Still — it’s disappointing. That part is real.
Not everything gets wrapped in a tidy bow.
Not everyone stays.

But none of this means I am wrong. Or broken. Or too much.

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What I Know Now

I enjoy time with myself. I enjoy time with my son — especially when I’m rested. I enjoy meaningful interactions in small doses. I’m not defective. I’m just attuned.

And yes — I’ve spent years believing I had to heal to be worthy. That I was a project to be fixed. That therapy was a tool to make me more palatable. And maybe my old therapist — consciously or not — fed that belief.

But I’m not doing that anymore.
I’m not healing to become someone better.
I’m healing to remember who I’ve always been.

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So here’s where I’m landing:

I am enough.
Even when I feel unseen.
Even when I’m disappointed.
Even when the people I’ve shown up for don’t show up back.

None of that takes away from the quiet, unshakeable truth at the core of me:

I am enough. I am worthy. I am whole.