Fear of Abandonment: Heavy Breaths, Quiet Presences and the Weight We Carry

The fear of abandonment comes long before the fear of love.
The heart sinks a million times, obsessing and overthinking the parts of you you can’t control.

Some of us — my womenfolk — stayed back for responsibilities that were never ours.
Some carried crosses so heavy you could barely whisper about them,
the kind that drain your bones,
the kind that make you lash out when you see the same patterns repeated.

And then they say, communicate.
So we peel ourselves open, literal and trembling, asking if they’ll stay.
We already know the answer before the words leave our mouths.

We muster courage anyway.
We wear the personal tag called “strong.”
We hear, oh, I thought you’d change,
because we no longer fit inside their souls.

And once again, we are dolls —
zipping the past shut,
afraid to share,
knowing it’s pointless,
knowing it will be used against us.

To the ones I’ve met and the ones I haven’t over these last six or seven years:
I don’t know if we will overcome these fractures,
but maybe we’ll learn to oversee them —
one day at a time,
with heavy breaths and deep inhales that pierce the chest.

At least we’ve made it this far without our best ones protecting or supporting us.
And maybe — who knows — one day there will be a universe for our kind:
gender-neutral,
not built for romance or lust,
but for the quiet presence of someone simply sitting beside you.