I’m Always the One Who Cares More

There’s a pattern I’ve started to see in my life. It shows up in every connection I make—friendships, relationships, even passing bonds with people I barely know.

It’s always me.

I’m always the one who remembers the little things.

I’m always the one who reaches out first.

I’m always the one who tries harder.

Who stays longer.

Who holds on tighter.

And I’m always the one who ends up hurting more.

I don’t say this to be dramatic.

I say this because it’s exhausting.

It’s exhausting to care so deeply in a world that’s built to be cold.

It’s exhausting to love people who never match your energy, your loyalty, your softness.

It’s exhausting to constantly feel like you’re “too much” simply because you give more than most people are used to receiving.

I wish I could be the person who holds back.

Who keeps their distance.

Who plays it cool and doesn’t let anyone in until they’ve proven they deserve it.

But that’s not me.

I love fully or not at all.

And maybe that’s my curse.

Because it always ends the same way.

Me sitting alone, wondering why I wasn’t enough for someone I gave everything to.

Me overthinking every word I said, every moment I tried, every time I reached out first—again.

Me realizing they never would’ve done the same for me.

I don’t want to sound bitter. I’m not.

I don’t regret loving people the way I do.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t leave scars.

You start to doubt yourself.

Start to believe that maybe you’re the problem.

Maybe you’re too intense, too emotional, too invested.

You start to shrink yourself.

Hold back your heart.

Numb the parts of you that once bloomed so freely.

Because somewhere along the way, you learned that love—your kind of love—makes people uncomfortable.

They love the idea of you.

Your support.

Your presence.

Your kindness.

But when it comes time to return it, they pull away.

They disappear.

They move on, leaving you wondering if any of it was real.

I’ve had friends who used me as a diary—disappearing until their life fell apart and then resurfacing just to pour their pain into me.

I’ve had partners who loved the way I loved them, but never cared enough to ask if I was okay.

I’ve had people say “you’re amazing” and still choose someone else who gave them less.

And I keep asking myself why.

Why do I keep giving so much to people who give so little back?

Why do I keep opening my heart like it’s unbreakable?

Why do I keep believing that maybe—just maybe—this time will be different?

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe it’s foolishness.

Maybe it’s the quiet ache of wanting to be loved the way I love others.

I think that’s what it really is.

I want someone to choose me first.

To text me without me having to start the conversation.

To show up without needing a reminder.

To care without conditions.

I want someone to hold my heart and not flinch at the weight of it.

Because despite everything, I still believe love should be beautiful.

Messy, yes. Complicated, sure.

But beautiful.

Mutual.

Soft.

Safe.

I want a love that doesn’t make me question if I’m asking for too much just by asking to be seen.

But until then, I’ll keep being the one who cares more.

Because I don’t know how to be anyone else.

I’ll keep loving loudly.

Supporting endlessly.

Giving fully.

Not because people deserve it.

But because I do.

I deserve to be exactly who I am, even in a world that doesn’t always know what to do with that kind of heart.

So if you’re like me—if you’ve ever sat in silence waiting for someone to check on you the way you always check on them—this is for you.

You’re not alone.

You’re not too much.

And one day, someone will love you in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling like you’re the only one trying.

Until then, keep your heart soft.

Keep showing up.

Keep caring more.

Because that’s not your weakness.

That’s your power.