To the One I Love, Even When I Seem Distant

I know there are moments — maybe more than I’d like to admit — where I seem far away.
When you reach for me and I hesitate. When I pull away instead of leaning in.
When I go quiet, go cold, go somewhere else altogether.

And I know it makes you wonder — if I still love you, if I still care, if I even see you standing there.

The truth is: I do. I see you. I love you.
Even when I seem unreachable.

But this has been one of the hardest things to make sense of.
Because I wonder too. Why do I pull away when I crave closeness?
Why do I shut down when all I want is to feel safe in your arms?
Why does love — even the safe kind — sometimes feel like too much?

I think it has something to do with my past. With trauma.
There are parts of me still wired for protection.
My nervous system still scans for danger in quiet moments.
My body still remembers a time when closeness came with consequences.

So even now — in a home full of warmth, with someone I trust — my body sometimes reacts like I’m under threat.
It flinches. It withdraws.
Not because I don’t want you.
But because I never really learned how to stay.

I’ve also wondered if this is how my brain is wired.
Maybe it’s trauma. Maybe it’s neurodivergence. Maybe it’s both.
Sometimes I feel everything so deeply that it overwhelms me.
Even affection — especially affection — can feel intense.
There are days when eye contact feels like exposure.
There are moments when being vulnerable feels like handing over a weapon.

But I want you to know this:
I’m working on it.
I’m learning to notice when I want to retreat — and choose to stay instead.
I’m learning to breathe through the discomfort, not run from it.
I’m learning that love isn’t supposed to feel like a trap, or a test, or a risk.

It’s supposed to feel like you.
And slowly, it’s starting to.

Thank you for being patient with me.
Thank you for holding space when I shrink.
Thank you for loving me in all the ways I’m still learning to love back.

I know I don’t always say it.
I know I don’t always show it.
But please believe me when I say:
When I pull away, it’s not because I don’t love you.
It’s because I’m still learning how to stay.

And if you’re reading this and you relate…

If you’ve ever struggled to give or receive love, if your body tenses when someone reaches for you — even if you want to be held — you’re not broken.

Trauma can shape how we respond to love. Neurodivergence can affect how we connect.

You are not cold. You are not incapable. You are learning safety, probably for the first time.
And that learning is love, too.