I THOUGHT I FOUND LOVE; BUT I WAS SOMEONE'S HEALING STATION

The kind of love that makes you forget the nights you cried alone. The kind that feels like a warm blanket after years of sleeping in the cold. The kind you wait for after surviving storms, heartbreaks, betrayals, and disappointments. I thought he was it.

He came into my life when I was finally learning how to breathe again. I wasn’t whole yet, but I was getting there. Healing. Piecing together all the broken parts of me that I had learned to live with. I didn’t expect him, but somehow, he felt familiar. Like a mirror. Like someone who had walked through fire too and understood what it meant to be burned.

He told me he had been hurt. That he didn’t trust easily. That he was trying to be better. And I listened. I held space. I showed up. I became the safe place he never had, because I knew what it felt like to need one and not find it.

But somewhere along the way, I started to confuse being needed with being loved.

He told me I was different. That I made him feel safe. That he didn’t know love could feel like peace until he met me. And I believed him. Not because I was naive, but because I wanted to believe that finally, someone saw me for more than what I could give.

But here’s what no one tells you: when you become someone’s healing station, you teach them how to stand and then they often walk away once they can.

He healed in my presence. He smiled more. Slept better. Found himself again. And I was happy for him. But the more he found himself, the more I lost myself. The more he grew, the more he pulled away. And one day, without warning, he left.

No explanation. No closure. Just distance.

And I sat there, broken in a way I hadn’t been in years. Not because he left, but the warmth of my love until he had enough strength to move on.

I was never his forever. I was his recovery.

And that’s the kind of heartbreak that cuts differently.

Because I didn’t just lose a person. I lost the version of myself I had finally started to believe in. I questioned everything: Was I not enough? Did I love too hard? Was I just convenient? Was he ever really in love with me, or just the way I made him feel about himself?

These questions haunted me.

But over time, I started to realize something. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Loving someone who is broken isn’t a crime. Giving someone peace isn’t weakness. But expecting someone who is still bleeding to love you clean is where I went wrong.

I can’t pour out every part of me just to keep someone else full.

That kind of love isn’t love. That’s self-sacrifice. That’s pain wrapped in romance. I had to stop romanticizing the idea that love is about fixing someone. Love is not supposed to drain you. It’s not supposed to leave you empty. Love is supposed to hold you, not weigh you down.

But here's the thing, bestie: even though I was left bleeding, I still believe in love. Just not the kind that only shows up when it’s broken. Not the kind that leaves when it gets better.

I want the kind of love that walks in healed or healing with me, not because of me.

I want to build a love that doesn't start from pain but from partnership. Where we both pour into each other. Where we don't just need, but choose.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like someone's healing station let me tell you: your love is not the problem. Your love is powerful. Your love is the kind that can save lives. But you deserve someone who doesn’t just take it you deserve someone who gives it back.

You are not a pit stop. You are not a rehab center. You are not a temporary fix.

You are a home. And the right person will never leave a place that feels like home.

So now, I take my broken pieces and I hold them gently. I remind myself that just because he couldn’t love me fully, doesn’t mean I am unlovable. It just means he wasn’t ready. Or maybe he was never meant to stay.

But I will stay. I will stay for myself. I will rebuild again. And this time, I won’t confuse healing someone with building a future.

Because I deserve more.

And so do you.