I’m Not Easy to Love—But There’s a Reason for That

I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m soft all the time. I’m not. My words can cut, and sometimes—if I’m being honest—they’re meant to. I can be impatient, impulsive. I react fast, and I don’t always think before I speak. I’ve manipulated conversations to feel in control. I’ve gaslit people—sometimes without even realizing it in the moment. I’ve jumped to conclusions and stood on them like they were facts.

And the worst part? A lot of the time… I know I’m doing it. Not after. Not hours later when I’ve had time to reflect. In the moment.

There’s this split second where I can see it—see the reaction forming, hear the tone in my voice, feel the shift happening—and I do it anyway. That’s the part that messes with me the most. Because it’s one thing to not know better. It’s another to be self-aware enough to recognize the pattern and still feel like you can’t stop it in time. Like watching yourself press the button while already knowing what’s about to explode.

And if I’m being honest… that doesn’t come from being careless. It comes from being wired for protection.

These traits didn’t just show up one day for fun. They were built, piece by piece. From moments where I felt dismissed. From times I wasn’t heard. From situations where I trusted, stayed quiet, gave the benefit of the doubt… and paid for it.

So I adapted.

I learned that if I spoke first, I wouldn’t be caught off guard. If I reacted quickly, I wouldn’t sit in confusion. If I controlled the narrative, I wouldn’t feel out of control. If I hurt first… I wouldn’t have to feel it as deeply when it came back.

And for a long time, that worked. It kept me from feeling small. It kept me from being blindsided. It gave me a sense of control in moments where I used to feel powerless.

But here’s what I’m starting to understand—self-awareness doesn’t automatically equal self-control. You can know exactly what you’re doing and still feel pulled to do it anyway. Because habits built from survival don’t just disappear because you recognize them. They’re fast, automatic, protective. And sometimes they override logic before logic even has a chance to speak.

But just because something protected me once… doesn’t mean it belongs in every moment of my life now.

Because those same traits? They don’t just block pain—they block connection. They turn conversations into battles. They make people feel like they’re being analyzed instead of understood. They push people away—even the ones who aren’t trying to hurt me.

And that’s where it gets complicated.

Because I’m not trying to be toxic. I’m trying to not feel what I’ve felt before. But the way I go about it? Sometimes creates the exact thing I’m trying to avoid—distance, misunderstanding, disconnection.

So now I’m learning something that doesn’t come naturally to me—pause. Not perfectly, not every time, but more than I did before. Pause before I react. Pause before I assume. Pause before I turn a feeling into a fact. Not because my instincts are always wrong—but because they’re not always complete.

And maybe that’s what growth actually looks like. Not suddenly becoming a completely different person… but catching yourself a second sooner than you used to. Holding back one reaction you normally would’ve let fly. Choosing, even once, not to press the button you know will blow everything up.

I’m not there yet. But I’m aware.

And right now? That’s where it starts.