I Know Myself, But I’m Still Learning

I know myself. I know the way I move through the world, carrying more than I should, convincing myself that needing help and waiting for it are the same thing. And I have never been good at waiting.

I tell myself I’m okay. That I can handle it. That standing alone is easier than leaning on people who may not always be there. Maybe for a while, that was true. Maybe I learned it the hard way, through disappointment, through people leaving, through the quiet moments where I realized I was the only one left holding all the weight.

I know the way I swallow my emotions before they have the chance to become words, convincing myself that if I don’t say them, they won’t matter as much. That if I can just keep moving, keep pushing forward, I won’t have to stop and feel everything all at once. I know the way I overthink, how I sit with my thoughts long after the world has moved on, dissecting every conversation, every silence, every moment that felt like it meant more than it should.

I know that I am strong. But strength has never been about how much I can carry on my own. Strength has never been about how well I can hide my need for help. Strength is knowing when to hold on and when to let go. It’s knowing that I don’t have to carry everything by myself.

And here’s the thing—I am not alone.

I am loved beyond measure, wrapped in a grace that does not shake. I am more than capable of doing hard things. And even when I don’t ask for it, even when I tell myself I don’t need it, support finds me in quiet ways, in small gestures, in people who care even when I’m not asking them to.

I know myself. But I am still learning. Learning that love doesn’t always arrive in the ways I expect it to, that help doesn’t always come in loud declarations or grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s in the way someone remembers my favorite things, the way they check in even when I don’t reply, the way they sit with me in silence when I have nothing left to say.

One day, I hope I’ll look back and see it clearly—that I was never truly alone. That I was always held, even when I felt like I was falling. That the love I so often give to others was quietly making its way back to me in ways I didn’t always recognize.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally believe that I don’t have to do this life alone.

With love,
Neta.