Empathy and Care

Empathy and care arrive at my door wearing unfamiliar faces.

They feel strange. Almost foreign. Sometimes rehearsed, sometimes hollow, beautifully worded, yet weightless.

They make me uneasy.

So I step back. I walk away before they can settle in.

When someone shows concern, my instincts don’t soften they stand alert. My guards rise, not because I am cold, but because I have learned caution. I meet their eyes, listen to their words, and often find myself searching for something deeper than kindness dressed up as language.

Life has shaped me into someone hyper-independent, hyper-vigilant. These are not traits I chose lightly; they are responses I grew into.

I am aware that this is trauma speaking. A reflex born from experiences where trust came with consequences. Where belief demanded a price I was unprepared to pay.

And so, even when people are sincere even when their intentions are honest, I struggle to accept it fully. Not because I want to doubt them, but because unlearning survival takes time.

This is not resistance.

It is recovery in progress.