Instructions for a Heart That Loves Wrong

Step 1: Identify the defect.

Run your fingers along the edges of your ribcage until you find the place where hope leaks out.

It will feel warm.

Tender.

As if someone kissed it and left before the kiss could mean anything.

This is the spot where the wrong people slip in.

They smell it on you—the fracture, the softness,

the opening shaped like an apology.

Sit quietly with your hand there.

Whisper the truth out loud:

“Something in me keeps choosing storms and calling them shelter.”

This admission will sting.

Consider it the first necessary cut.

Step 2: Locate past owners.

Spread the heart out on a flat surface.

(It won’t stay still; hearts like yours never do.)

Make a list of every person you’ve loved who did not stay,

along with the gifts they left behind:

One broke promise (“I swear I’m not like the others”).

Three half-finished conversations.

A kiss that tasted like goodbye.

A text message that looked like affection but was actually boredom.

A silence so long it began to sound like your fault.

Arrange these artifacts in chronological order.

Notice that they form a pattern—

a constellation of almosts.

This is the history of a heart that believes crumbs are a feast

as long as they come from the person it wants.

Step 3: Recognize unhealthy attractions.

If the person is cold, distant, emotionally unavailable,

or allergic to commitment—

you will want them.

If they speak in half sentences,

say they’re “bad at emotions,”

or offer affection only in shadows and back seats—

you will call it mystery

and feel your pulse quicken.

If they give you just enough attention to awaken your hope,

then step back to watch it starve—

you will mistake it for chemistry.

Write this down somewhere visible:

“My heart confuses intensity with intimacy.”

Repeat it until the truth pierces you.

Step 4: Practice not chasing.

Your instinct will be to run after the ones who walk away.

Do not trust this instinct.

It was shaped by old wounds that still think abandonment

is the proof you must earn love.

When the wrong person pulls back,

your heart will sprint automatically:

Maybe if I try harder… maybe if I love louder… maybe if I fix myself…

Place your hand over your sternum when this happens.

Press firmly.

Say:

“I do not have to audition for affection.”

“Love is not a prize given to the exhausted.”

“I refuse to be a lesson someone else learns too late.”

Say it again tomorrow.

Say it until your chest stops tightening.

Step 5: Accept that your heart is not broken—only mis-trained.

It learned love from scarcity.

From the people who withheld what you needed most.

From the parent who was present physically but absent emotionally.

From the friend who only valued you when convenient.

From the lover who said all the right things

only when they wanted something in return.

Your heart memorized their patterns

and now calls them home.

Forgive it.

It did the best it could with what it knew.

Step 6: Re-teach the heart.

This part takes time.

Introduce it to people who text back without leaving you waiting hours.

People who don’t say “maybe” when they mean “no.”

People who ask how your day was

because they genuinely want to know.

People who don’t treat your love like a luxury item

they might afford someday.

At first, your heart will resist.

It will miss the chaos.

It will crave the adrenaline of uncertainty.

It will call stability “boring.”

Do not mistake this for truth.

It is withdrawal.

The absence of pain might feel like emptiness at first.

Sit with it.

Let peace become a new rhythm.

Step 7: Create new instructions.

Take a pen—

yes, a real one—

and write this on the inside of your wrist,

where the pulse is strongest:

“Choose what chooses you.”

Then below it:

“Consistent love is not less passionate—just less exhausting.”

Then, for good measure:

“I will not love anyone more than I love my own peace.”

When your heart starts veering back toward old patterns,

read these lines aloud.

They are your emergency manual.

When love finally comes—

real love, steady love, the kind that doesn’t evaporate

when you become inconvenient—

your heart will tremble.

It won’t know how to hold something that isn’t slipping away.

Let it shake.

Let it learn.

Place your hand on your chest

and feel the unfamiliar warmth of someone choosing you

without hesitation.

This time, do not run.

Do not self-sabotage.

Do not compare them to ghosts.

Just breathe.

And whisper:

“This is what love looks like when I stop choosing wrong.”