I don’t want a love that only knows what to do with my body.

What’s been hard to find is the kind that stays when I get quiet.
The kind that doesn’t flinch when I go distant.
The kind that can feel there is pain under my smile and doesn’t make me feel guilty for not being easy all the time. Because the truth is, I am not hard to love because I ask for too much. I am hard to love for people who only know how to show up for the pretty parts. The soft parts.
The flirty parts.
The warm, laughing, glowing parts. But I also have other parts. Parts of me that still get scared when things start to feel real.
Parts of me that overthink a change in tone.
Parts of me that go quiet when I actually need to be held.
Parts of me that still don’t fully believe someone can love me gently without eventually using my tenderness against me. And I hate even saying that out loud. I hate that life taught me to question what should feel simple.
I hate that love, for me, has sometimes felt more like fear than rest.
I hate that there are moments when someone can be kind to me and my first instinct is still to wonder when it will change. That does something to a woman. It makes her look strong when really she is just used to carrying herself through everything.
It makes her seem guarded when really she has just learned what it costs to open in the wrong hands.
It makes her seem complicated when really she is just tired of being broken by people who only wanted the light version of her. And I am tired. Tired of pretending that being wanted is the same thing as being cared for.
Tired of acting like attention means safety.
Tired of calling it love when all I really felt was anxiety, confusion, waiting, doubt.
Tired of being around people who could touch my skin but never reach the ache in me. I don’t need someone to save me. I need someone who won’t make me feel ashamed for still healing. Because I am still healing. I still have nights when my mind gets loud.
I still have moments when old pain comes back in a new room with a new face.
I still have days when I want closeness and days when closeness terrifies me.
I still have wounds that do not show on my body but still shape the way I love, the way I trust, the way I brace myself before I get attached. And the hardest part is that I still love deeply anyway. That is what nobody really talks about. How exhausting it is to be a deeply loving person after you have been hurt for real.
How scary it is to keep having a soft heart when life has given you so many reasons to shut it down.
How lonely it feels to crave intimacy and fear it at the same time. I know how to love. I know how to listen closely.
I know how to notice the little change in someone’s voice.
I know how to stay up late talking something through.
I know how to hold pain with both hands.
I know how to love someone in a way that makes them feel seen. And maybe that is why the wrong love has hurt me so much. Because I did not show up halfway.
Because when I cared, I cared with my whole chest.
Because I gave people the kind of tenderness I was secretly begging for myself.
Because I kept hoping that if I loved well enough, honestly enough, deeply enough, it would be enough to make someone handle my heart carefully. It wasn’t. And that truth still sits in me. Still stings.
Still humbles me.
Still makes me quieter than I used to be. So no, I do not want a love that only desires me. I want a love that understands me.
A love that does not make me feel like my emotions are a burden.
A love that does not disappear when I stop being shiny and easy and light.
A love that does not punish me for having scars it did not create but still expects me to pretend are not there. I want someone who can sit with the truth of me.
Not just the woman who looks strong.
The woman who is tired.
The woman who has cried in private and then answered messages like nothing happened.
The woman who has held herself together in bathrooms, in bed at night, in public, in silence.
The woman who has smiled with a heavy heart because she did not want anyone to feel responsible for what she was carrying. I want a love that sees that woman too. And stays gentle with her. Not because I am weak.
Not because I need to be rescued.
But because I have spent too much of my life being strong in places where I should have been safe. I want a love that does not make me perform healing. A love that does not expect me to have no triggers, no fear, no grief, no history.
A love that understands that sometimes I may need reassurance and that does not make me needy.
That sometimes I may go quiet and that does not mean I care less.
That sometimes I may tremble while telling the truth because the truth has not always been safe in my mouth. I want the kind of love that makes my body unclench. The kind that lowers the noise in my mind.
The kind that does not leave me guessing.
The kind that does not make me decode every silence.
The kind that feels steady.
Clear.
Warm.
Safe enough for me to stop reaching for my armor every time I start to care. Because I am tired of armor. Tired of pretending I do not want to be held carefully.
Tired of pretending I do not want a love that feels like peace.
Tired of pretending I am okay with almost.
Tired of pretending casual things do not cut deep when you are the kind of person who feels everything. I am not asking for perfect. I am asking for real. Real patience.
Real care.
Real effort.
Real presence.
Real honesty.
Real emotional courage. The kind that does not run the moment love asks for depth.
The kind that does not panic when a woman comes with history.
The kind that knows intimacy is not just kissing someone at their softest.
It is staying kind when they are at their most afraid. Maybe that is what I have wanted all along. Not fireworks.
Not intensity that burns hot and disappears.
Not chemistry that leaves me anxious.
Not passion without tenderness. Just a love that feels safe enough for me to stop surviving it. A love where I do not have to hide the trembling parts.
A love where I do not have to act less affected than I am.
A love where I can be deeply feeling and still be deeply held.
A love where I do not have to earn gentleness by being low maintenance, unbothered, healed enough, easy enough, quiet enough. I want to be loved in the places that still ache. And I know that is a vulnerable thing to admit. But it is true. I want a love that does not just make me feel desired. I want one that makes me feel safe enough to exhale.