I think every relationship I’ve ever had started long before I realized it. Before the men. Before the heartbreak. Before I learned how to love like it was something I had to earn. It started with her.

My mom.

I don’t know how to explain our relationship in a way that makes perfect sense… because it never really did. It wasn’t all bad. That’s what makes it harder to understand. There were moments of love. Moments where I felt seen. But they weren’t consistent. They didn’t stay. And inconsistency like that teaches you something early—even if you don’t have the words for it yet.

And when you grow up like that, you don’t question it.

You adjust. You learn how to read the room. You learn how to keep the peace. You learn that love can feel warm one minute and distant the next. So you start working for it. Trying to be easier. Calmer. Better. Less “too much.” You learn emotional survival before you even understand emotional safety.

And without realizing it, that becomes your normal.

You grow up thinking that’s what love is—something you earn, something you manage, something that can be taken away if you get it wrong. I think that’s where it started for me—that quiet belief that if I could just get it right, things would finally feel steady.

But steady never came.

So instead, I learned to question myself. Was I too much? Did I say something wrong? Am I the problem? And that kind of thinking doesn’t stay in childhood—it follows you into every relationship, every connection, every version of yourself you try to build after.

And the hardest part is… you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

You think you’re just loving someone.

You think you’re just trying.

You think this is what effort looks like.

But really, you’re repeating something that was taught to you before you even had a choice.

You’re over-explaining.

Overthinking.

Overextending.

Trying to feel secure in something that never actually feels stable.

And it shows up in ways that don’t always look obvious. In the way you stay longer than you should. In the way you give chances that don’t get earned. In the way you question yourself instead of questioning what’s being given to you.

It becomes less about connection…and more about trying to get it right.

Trying to finally be chosen in a way that feels consistent.

And that’s the part I’m starting to see now. That it was never about being “too much.” It was about being taught to shrink in order to be loved.

And unlearning that?

That’s where I am now. I think that’s the part that messes with you the most realizing it wasn’t random. It wasn’t just “bad luck” in relationships. It wasn’t just choosing the wrong people.

It was familiar.

It felt like something I already knew how to navigate. Something I had been practicing my whole life without realizing it.

Because when love starts off inconsistent…you don’t go looking for steady.

You go looking for what feels recognizable.

Even if it hurts.

Even if it confuses you.

Even if part of you knows it isn’t right.

There’s something almost comforting about the chaos when it’s all you’ve known. And that’s a hard thing to admit.

Because it means I wasn’t just in those situations—

I understood them.

I knew how to survive in them.

I knew how to adjust myself just enough to stay.

And for a long time, I thought that meant I was strong. That I could handle more. That I could love harder. That I could fix what felt broken.

But the truth is…

I was just repeating something I hadn’t healed yet. And that realization?

That one stings a little.

Because it forces you to look at your own patterns. Your own choices. The ways you’ve stayed in things that didn’t feel right, not because you didn’t know…

but because it felt normal.

And I’m not writing this from some “I have it all figured out now” place. I’m writing this from the middle of it. From the awareness stage.The part where you start seeing it clearly…

but you’re still learning how to choose differently.

Still catching yourself in the overthinking.

The overgiving.

The quiet hoping that this time it’ll feel different.

And maybe that’s what this really is—

not an ending. Not a resolution. Just the point where I finally understand where it started…

and why it followed me for so long.

~Tj🩷