By Someone Who Believed Too Much, For Too Long
I didn’t expect her to save me.
I just wanted someone to see me — to meet me in the quiet, broken corners of myself and not flinch. She said she could. Said she would. She promised healing.
And I believed her.
Because when you’ve been walking through pain alone for so long, even a whisper of hope sounds like a symphony. And she… she was loud with love at first. Loud with empathy. With “I get you” and “You’re safe here.”
But safety built on shaky ground never lasts.
It Started with Light
We met at a time when I was unraveling.
Not in the dramatic, cinematic way — just the everyday ache of carrying too much for too long. Grief. Burnout. Old wounds pretending to be scars.
She came into my life like medicine. Like breath. Like finally, I could rest.
She said, “I’ve been there.”
She said, “Let me help you heal.”
And I believed her — not because I was naive, but because I was tired. Because we all want to believe that someone who’s been through the fire will know how to walk us out of the flames.
Then Came the Shift
The warmth started to cool.
Suddenly, my softness was “too much.” My honesty made her uncomfortable. My need for consistency — once welcomed — became a burden.
She still wore the healer mask, but underneath, she was unraveling too. And instead of owning it, she began to hurt me in the same ways she once promised to protect me from.
She’d disappear when I needed her.
Then return like nothing happened.
She’d say things like “you’re so sensitive” — as if feeling deeply was a flaw.
One day she loved the wounded parts of me.
The next, she used them as weapons.
It felt like whiplash.
It felt like gaslighting.
It felt like home, if home was chaos — which made it harder to leave.
The Hardest Truth
It took me a long time to say this out loud:
She didn’t want to heal me. She wanted to be worshipped for meaning well.
And the second I stopped reflecting her light back at her, I became disposable.
That's the thing about people who call themselves “healers” without doing their own work — they love broken things only as long as those things don’t ask for real help.
So I Left
Not all at once.
I left in pieces — like someone tiptoeing barefoot out of a burning room, still trying not to disturb anyone.
But I left.
And in doing so, I realized something no one tells you:
The person who promises to heal you might be the one who reopens your deepest wounds — and that’s not your fault.
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not “too much.”
You’re not unlovable.
You were just holding out hope in someone who didn’t know how to hold you back.
This Is for You
If you’ve ever been hurt by someone who promised to help…
If someone used your pain as proof of your weakness, instead of your strength…
If you believed in someone who turned out to be smoke and mirrors…
I want you to know:
You’re still worthy.
You’re still healing.
And you’re not alone.
Sometimes, the person who hurts you the most is the one who looked like safety at first.
But you will learn.
You will rise.
And this time, the healing will come from someone who never leaves you behind — yourself.
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