Blame yourself for the damage that caused it

 "Don’t blame me for changing—blame yourself for the damage that demanded it."

I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to become colder, more guarded, or harder to reach. Those changes didn’t come from nowhere; they were carved into me by every careless word you spoke, by the promises you broke without hesitation, and by the countless moments you made me feel like I wasn’t enough. They were etched into my soul by the silence that followed my vulnerability, by the indifference that met my efforts, and by the way you looked away when I needed you most. I didn’t choose this version of me out of nowhere—it was built, piece by painful piece, from the love I gave and never had returned.

You taught me not to trust so easily, not to give so freely, and not to love without caution. I used to lead with my heart—unguarded, hopeful, and open. But over time, your actions rewrote that instinct. You showed me that vulnerability could be met with carelessness, that love could be taken for granted, and that hope could be punished. So I learned to hesitate, to shield myself, to pull back. Not because I stopped feeling, but because feeling too much around you only ever left me wounded.

But even in the aftermath, I don’t regret who I was before you. I miss that version of me—the one who believed the best in people, who gave without fear, who loved without walls. That person still lives in me, just quieter now, more careful. Because pain may have changed me, but it didn’t destroy me. I’m learning to rebuild, not for you, but for me. Slowly, I’m allowing light to touch the places I had sealed shut. I’m choosing to heal on my own terms—to trust again, not blindly, but bravely. Because I deserve a love that doesn’t punish openness, that meets my heart with grace, not silence. And next time, I won’t shrink myself to be understood. I’ll stay whole—and only those who can handle that will be welcome in my life.