The Walls I Built Around Love

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of loving too deeply, afraid of giving too much of myself, and afraid of the inevitable hurt that always seems to follow. It’s strange because I long for connection, crave it even, but at the same time, I fear it. Every time I get close to someone, I feel this invisible wall go up inside me, and I wonder if they can feel it too. The tension between wanting love and fearing it has been a battle I’ve fought with myself for years.

Growing up, I was the dreamer. I had this perfect picture of love in my head, one where everything was effortless and beautiful. It wasn’t just the fairy tale romance that captured my heart; it was the idea of being seen and being wanted. But as I grew older, reality started to creep in, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was always missing. People let me down, things ended before they were supposed to, and my belief in love began to feel like a distant memory.

I’ve always been the type to overthink. I’ll spend hours imagining scenarios in my head, playing out conversations that haven’t even happened yet, crafting my own version of reality just to prepare myself for what might come. And sometimes, that means I create these elaborate ideas of what love should look like. It’s a coping mechanism, really. If I can picture the perfect person, the perfect relationship, then maybe I won’t be so scared of what comes next. But the problem is that I’m setting myself up for failure. My expectations are too high, and they keep me from seeing what’s right in front of me.

There’s this paradox I face every time I think about dating. I want to be open, to let someone in, but at the same time, I don’t trust myself to make the right choices. I’ll find myself second-guessing every move, every word, every touch, wondering if I’m just setting myself up to get hurt. And yet, despite all my fears, I still crave intimacy, still yearn for the connection that I’ve been missing. I just don’t know how to navigate it without constantly being on guard, without holding a part of myself back.

It wasn’t until recently, after years of therapy and soul-searching, that I began to realize how much of my fear was rooted in my own sense of self-worth. I’d spent so long chasing after a love that validated me, that I forgot to ask myself if I was okay on my own. I’ve spent so many years trying to mold myself into someone who could be loved, when in reality, the person I needed to love most was myself. I wanted someone to fill the empty spaces in my heart, but I was learning that only I could do that.

I’ve had relationships in the past, and some have been wonderful, while others have left scars. But each one taught me something, whether I wanted to learn the lesson or not. And now, I find myself at a crossroads. I’m no longer the girl who believes in perfect fairy tales, but I also don’t want to give up on love entirely. I just need to find a balance between what I want and what’s real. The fear of being hurt still lingers, but I’m starting to realize that no matter how much I try to protect myself, love requires vulnerability. And that vulnerability doesn’t always mean pain—it means growth.

I’m learning to accept that love doesn’t have to come in the way I imagined it. Maybe it won’t be the grand gestures or the fairytale romance I once dreamed of, but it could be something more subtle, more meaningful. Love could look like quiet moments with someone who sees me for who I am, flaws and all. It could look like two people, walking side by side, supporting each other through life’s ups and downs. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just real.

As I step back into the world of dating, I find myself holding on to a newfound understanding. I’m allowed to want love, but I don’t have to chase it. I’m allowed to be open, but I don’t have to settle. I’m allowed to be afraid, but I don’t have to let that fear control me. I’m learning to trust myself and trust the process, knowing that I’m worthy of love just as I am.

So, I let the walls I built around myself start to come down, brick by brick. It’s terrifying, but I know it’s the only way to make room for something real. I may not have all the answers, and I may not know what the future holds, but I know one thing for sure: I’m ready to face love with open arms, ready to take the risks that come with it, because I’m learning to trust that no matter what happens, I’ll be okay.