Burning Beneath

There was a moment today that stayed with me longer than it should have.

A simple post, asking for one word to describe someone.

And I couldn’t do it.

I never could stick to limits like that.

Even as a child in school, when they gave us two pages or a word count, I always went over.

Not to show off, it just felt unnatural to stop when I still had more to say.

And thinking back now, I realize it wasn’t just about loving to write.

It was also where I felt most in control.

Home life wasn’t always something I could control or fully understand.

There were things happening around me that I had to live with, not change.

But in school, in my words, in my work, that was different.

That space was mine.

I could think clearly.

I could express fully.

I could do something and immediately see the result.

And more importantly, I would be seen.

Teachers noticed.

They encouraged me.

They never shut me down for going beyond what was asked.

So without realizing it, something formed inside me.

I learned that if I put in more effort, I would receive something back.

Recognition, praise, a kind word.

And that felt good.

Not just good, it felt grounding.

It felt like something I could rely on.

And that pattern didn’t stay in school.

It followed me into everything.

Into how I work.

Into how I express myself.

Into how I show up for people.

I give more.

I go deeper.

I don’t hold back.

And somewhere in that, there is still a part of me that looks for that response.

That acknowledgment.

That moment of being seen.

And when it comes, it feels like relief.

Like something inside settles.

Not because I need attention, but because I was trained to connect effort with being valued.

So now I find myself asking,

Is this healthy?

Not the hard work, I don’t question that.

That part of me has built a lot.

But the part that quietly waits for the response.

The part that feels the difference when it’s not there.

Because the truth is, when the response doesn’t come, nothing is actually missing.

The work is still done.

The effort is still real.

The value is still there.

But it doesn’t always feel that way.

And that’s where I start to see the problem.

If my sense of being seen depends on someone else responding,

then I am giving away something that should be mine.

Because people won’t always respond.

They won’t always notice.

They won’t always say the words.

Not because I’m not worthy of it,

but simply because life doesn’t work that way.

And if I stay tied to that,

then my effort will always come with a quiet expectation.

And expectations, even silent ones, can turn into weight.

Weight on my work.

Weight on my relationships.

Weight on how I feel about myself.

That’s not something I want to carry.

So maybe the shift is not in stopping what I do.

Not in holding back.

Not in becoming less.

But in changing where the final validation comes from.

To be able to say, after I give, after I express, after I show up,

This was good.

I see it.

And let anything that comes after that be extra, not essential.

Because maybe the balance is not in removing the need for kind words,

but in no longer depending on them to feel whole.