Desperate, my heart grasped at a mirage of belonging. My soul embodied a perpetual and pervasive sense that I didn’t belong.
Contortion, compliance and attention seeking by any means became my modus operandi.
I embraced, embedded and seared shame and blame like a tattoo on my heart. Interpreted the lack of belonging as a judgment of my worth.
When I finally realized that attention does not equal belonging I withdrew, consumed by grief. If I don’t belong, and no amount of attention will fill the void - what am I left with?
Acceptance.
I don’t belong, but it isn’t anyone’s fault. Not theirs. Not mine. I just . . . don’t belong. They aren’t my people and I’m not theirs. And that’s okay.
Love can still exist, a relationship can be salvaged - minus the striving for belonging, the grief when I don’t, and the shame of wondering what’s wrong with me.
