My critical parent — that harsh, doubting voice inside me — isn’t just cruel.
It’s protective.
It’s the part of me that remembers.
It remembers every time I hoped and was let down.
Every time I gave someone a second chance and they used it to hurt me again.
Every time I contorted myself just to belong — and still wasn’t chosen.

So it says things like:
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“People don’t really care.”
“They’ll leave. They always do.”

And the saddest part?
That voice has been mostly right.

When your whole life has shown you that love is conditional, that connection is often transactional, and that being yourself never seems to be quite enough — of course you build a wall. Of course you retreat. Of course you find peace in your own company, because that’s the only place no one is secretly rolling their eyes or planning to leave.

I wasn’t naive.
I was hopeful.

And now… I’m tired.

I still crave connection. I still want to be seen and held and laughed with.
But there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe it will happen.
Or worse — believes that if it does, it won’t last.
And so I meet love and kindness with suspicion.
I don’t fully let it in.
Because I’ve let it in before, and it left scars.

My psyche feels fragile.
Not broken. Not irreparable. But delicate — like old paper with too many folds.
I’m more stable than I’ve ever been. But I’m still recovering.
Still learning what safety feels like.
Still trying to believe that love, when it comes, might actually stay.

There’s a grief in this that’s hard to name.
Because it’s not just about one person, or one moment.
It’s the weight of an entire lifetime of almosts, maybes, and not-quite-enoughs.

But even now, somewhere inside, there’s a quieter voice — not the critical parent, but something deeper.
Something that whispers:
“You’re not crazy for hoping. You were just never given what you needed.”

And maybe that’s what healing is.
Not erasing the grief.
Not suddenly trusting everyone.
But slowly learning to hope again — in small, honest ways — while holding yourself close the entire time.