Why didn’t you come?

The night I broke my foot playing outside-mid in a home soccer game my senior year of high school, no one was there. I knew immediately my track season would be affected and cried because it hurt I had no one there, not from physical pain. I drove myself home that night. You didn’t come to a single soccer game. You thought it was stupid I’d gone out for the team when I should have been focusing on my last season of track.

The gymnastics meet I entered when I was fourteen just for fun because I missed it so bad. You stayed home because it was silly to have returned to a sport I wasn’t great at (but loved and felt so good doing).

Any of the student council events I led. Spanish honor society induction. Any away basketball games. Your absence told me I wasn’t good enough for you. If I were better at these things or something else, you’d love me more. You’d show up for me more.

I’ve created this gut-wrenching hole I want you to want to fill. I can’t seem to stop asking for you to start filling it up, no matter how much rejection stings.

I did it again this weekend. I’m still feeling the familiar sting.

Why didn’t you want to come?

I feel sad for all the times I felt homesick as a teenager and young adult. I often dreamed up scenarios to try to lessen my need for my parents by imagining how I would be comforted if I were just in closer proximity. I am in close proximity now and it is nothing like I hoped. The hurt box is continuing to grow.

I feel unacceptable.

It seems I’ve put much of my body’s puzzle together but the core of the puzzle doesn’t fit into the edge pieces. As if I simply don’t belong. The puzzle wasn’t cut properly in the factory and it’s just never going to come satisfactorily together.

I want to shrink to fit.

And, I want to lean in to the precious humans showing me love, instead of starving myself clear of being able to receive that love.

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