I got so good at healing that I forgot how to feel anything real.
Everywhere I looked, people were preaching self-love like it was salvation — protect your peace, choose yourself, cut people off, pour into your own cup. And maybe they were right. Maybe I needed it for a while.
But somewhere along the way, I disappeared into it.
I stopped reaching for people.
Stopped apologizing first.
Stopped admitting when I was lonely because I told myself solitude meant growth. I turned independence into a personality and isolation into something poetic.
Now I sit with this strange emptiness no one talks about.
What happens when self-love becomes a wall instead of a home?
I know myself deeply now. I know my triggers, my boundaries, my worth. But sometimes I miss the version of me that needed people without feeling ashamed for it. The version of me that loved recklessly, trusted easily, stayed too long, cared too much.
Maybe balance is harder than heartbreak.
Maybe healing can become another way to hide.
I don’t think we were meant to worship ourselves endlessly. I think we were meant to know ourselves well enough to still let others in.
And lately, I’ve been wondering if I got lost somewhere in the sea of becoming “whole” alone.
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This hit me in a place I didn’t even know I was protecting. ‘What happens when self-love becomes a wall instead of a home?’ — that line alone says more than most wellness accounts do in a year. You’ve named something so many of us are quietly living through but haven’t yet found the words for. Healing isn’t a straight line, and you’ve reminded us that real wholeness isn’t about never needing anyone — it’s about knowing yourself well enough to know who’s worth needing. Thank you for writing what solitude often silences. That old version of you that loved recklessly? She wasn’t lost. She was just waiting for you to remember she’s still part of the song, not the mistake.
Dearest Srikanth, Thank you for this. I had to read it more than once because it felt like you reached into the spaces between the words and understood exactly what I was trying to say. “A wall instead of a home” has been sitting heavy with me too — how easy it is to call isolation healing when really it’s fear dressed in softer language.
What you said about wholeness and needing people honestly stayed with me. I think I spent a long time believing strength meant needing less, when maybe real strength is being discerning without becoming closed. Learning how to stay open without abandoning yourself.
And that last part… about the old version of me still being part of the song, not the mistake — that landed deep. I think a lot of us grieve former versions of ourselves without realizing they still carry something worth keeping. Thank you for reminding me of that so gently.