Dear One,
It’s me—Love.
Not the kind that traps or binds or pleads.
Not the kind that asks you to stay where your soul feels smaller.
I’m the kind of Love that wants you to breathe.
I see you. I see the ache in your chest when you think about leaving.
I see the knots in your stomach, the whispers of “But what if they fall apart?”
I see how you carry someone else’s weight as though their survival depends on your sacrifice.
But dear heart, Love was never meant to be a cage.
And you were never meant to disappear in order for someone else to exist.
If someone tells you they can’t survive without you,
that is not Love—it is fear dressed up in your name.
And it is not your job to be their oxygen.
Let me remind you of something you’ve forgotten:
You do not have to break yourself to keep someone else from breaking.
You are allowed to leave even if it hurts them.
You are allowed to choose freedom over obligation.
You are allowed to walk away with a shaking voice and a steady heart.
And if they fall apart?
They will find the pieces. Or they won’t.
But either way, it is not your healing to do.
I will be with them, too.
Just like I am with you now.
You are not cruel for wanting to go.
You are not selfish. You are not heartless.
You are finally listening to the part of you that wants to live.
So take my hand, beloved.
Walk toward the lightness.
You do not have to stay to prove you are kind.
You are already Love.
Always,
Love
This letter is inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert on substack