Sometimes, I stretch myself too thin.

Not just physically, but emotionally.

Always attempting to hold space for people who never had the intention, nor the capacity, to do the same for me.

And that’s a hard pill to swallow.

Because somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that being there for people meant showing up regardless of what I had going on. Regardless of how exhausted I was. Regardless of whether I had anything left to give.

I made room for people in spaces where I was already struggling to breathe.

I listened when I needed someone to hear me.

Comforted when I needed comforting.

Extended grace when I was barely holding myself together.

And the crazy part?

I wasn’t asking anybody to save me. Sometimes, I just wanted the same consideration I so freely extended.

A moment of genuine concern.

A listening ear without judgment.

A simple, “But how are YOU doing?”

Not the surface-level question people ask out of habit, but the kind that comes with the willingness to sit with an uncomfortable answer.

Because sometimes, I’m not okay.

Sometimes, I’m overwhelmed.

And sometimes, I simply don’t have the emotional capacity to carry another person’s burdens when I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my own.

But here’s where this Konfession gets a little more personal.

Holding space isn’t always about friendships or family.

Sometimes, it’s about people I genuinely believed held my heart gently, only to discover they weren’t nearly as careful with it as I’d hoped.

People I cared for so deeply that I found myself setting aside pieces of my own morals, standards, and beliefs in the spirit of, “Let’s see where this can go.”

And if I’m being completely transparent, that’s something I’ve had to sit with.

Because at what point did I become so invested in the possibility of something that I started negotiating the very things I’d once considered nonnegotiable?

Was it hope?

Was it love?

Or was it the desire to finally experience the kind of love I’d spent so much time giving?

I don’t have all the answers.

What I do know is that I made accommodations for people I believed valued me the way I valued them.

People I thought loved me the way I loved them.

People whose circumstances I considered, whose struggles I tried to understand, and whose emotional limitations I repeatedly made room for.

Not because I didn’t know what I deserved.

But because I genuinely believed there was something worth holding on to.

And somewhere between understanding their circumstances and accommodating their limitations, I stopped asking myself whether my own needs were being met.

I was so busy considering what they were going through that I failed to consider what their inability to show up was doing to me.

And what did I have to show for all that understanding?

Nothing.

At least, nothing resembling the reciprocity, consideration, or emotional security I’d hoped for.

And that realization hurts.

Not simply because someone couldn’t love me the way I wanted to be loved, but because I allowed myself to remain emotionally invested in situations that required more compromise than I was comfortable admitting.

There’s a difference between being understanding and being so accommodating that you begin abandoning yourself.

And I think I’ve crossed that line more times than I’d like to acknowledge.

I’ve mistaken my ability to endure for an obligation to keep enduring.

I’ve treated my emotional availability like an unlimited resource, forgetting that even the strongest parts of me require rest.

And perhaps the most uncomfortable part of this Konfession is acknowledging that sometimes, I’ve contributed to my own exhaustion by refusing to recognize when enough was enough.

That’s not to excuse anyone else’s behavior.

It’s simply me recognizing that I have a responsibility to myself, too.

A responsibility to honor my boundaries.

To stop negotiating my standards for the sake of potential.

To recognize that understanding someone’s circumstances doesn’t automatically make their actions acceptable.

And to accept that I can care deeply for someone without continuing to make myself available in ways that leave me emotionally depleted.

I can love people and still have limits.

I can extend grace without extending unlimited access.

I can recognize someone’s potential without making it my responsibility to wait for them to become who I hoped they’d be.

And most importantly, I can acknowledge that the love I give deserves consideration, too.

Because I’m tired.

Not tired of loving.

Not tired of caring.

Not even tired of being someone people can depend on.

I’m tired of feeling as though my capacity to understand others somehow makes my own emotional needs less important.

I’m tired of making room for everybody else’s feelings while struggling to find space for my own.

And I’m tired of convincing myself that accepting less is somehow a reflection of how deeply I love.

Perhaps my biggest Konfession today is this:

I’ve spent so much time making sure other people had a safe place to land that I neglected to create one for myself.

And that’s something I have to change.

Not by becoming cold.

Not by allowing disappointment to harden my heart.

But by remembering that I am just as deserving of the patience, compassion, consideration, and gentleness I so freely extend.

I don’t want to stop loving deeply.

I don’t want to become someone who no longer believes in people.

I simply want to stop losing pieces of myself trying to prove that I’m worth showing up for.

Because I am.

Even when someone doesn’t recognize it.

Even when someone doesn’t reciprocate it.

Even when the outcome isn’t what I’d hoped.

And maybe this season of my life isn’t about learning how to love people better.

Maybe it’s about finally learning that loving myself requires me to stop making room for things that leave me with nothing.

Until the next Konfession,

Breathe Soft. Speak Loud. Exhale, Love.

🤍 Kae