Constellations of Connection

I felt it again today, the tingling in my hands and chest. That quiet signal from my body that something deeper is stirring. It’s not panic. It’s memory. The kind of memory that doesn’t always come with words, just feeling. Presence. Sadness. Stillness.

I’ve always been someone who fears rejection, not in small, everyday ways, but in the way that makes you organize your whole life around not being hurt. I have lots of acquaintances, plenty of people I can laugh or chat with. But very few friends. The kind who know me, not just my story, but my heart. And I think I’ve kept it that way on purpose. I don’t give many people the chance to really see me.

Because when I have, and when I’ve truly believed I belonged or was cared for, those are the moments when rejection felt like betrayal. That’s when I’ve felt most like a fool. And that kind of pain doesn’t just sit quietly. It floods my body. My hands go numb. My chest tightens. It becomes physical. Real.

So I’ve learned to navigate life a little differently. I stay light, social, likable, without risking too much. And when it starts to feel like someone is getting too close or not really seeing me, I usually pull away before they can. Maybe that’s how I protect myself. Maybe I’ve trained myself to leave before I can be left.

But I’ve also noticed something else. I come alive in brief, meaningful moments. The kind of moments that drop into honesty and presence. They might come in conversation with strangers or in quiet exchanges with people I may never meet again, but they leave a mark. There’s energy there. A spark of something real.

And yes, maybe there’s safety in those moments too. They don’t require permanence. They don’t ask me to stay when the energy fades or the connection shifts. And I’ve realized that for me, that matters. Because sometimes, when relationships linger past their purpose, when they begin to drain instead of nourish, I know it’s time to go. And I’m learning not to feel guilty about that.

Maybe I was never meant to build my life around a few long-lasting bonds. Maybe that isn’t what connection looks like for me. Maybe I gather my belonging in pieces, in sparks, in constellations. Not one flame, but many stars.

And maybe that’s not something to mourn, but something to honor.

I’m learning not to accept being alone as a flaw or something that needs fixing. I’m learning to separate being alone from the idea of loneliness, because loneliness carries a kind of pity that doesn’t reflect the truth of who I am. Being alone is often where my clearest thoughts and deepest truths surface. This entire reflection began with breakfast by myself, when I found myself wondering, Why am I alone? What’s wrong with me? But maybe there’s nothing wrong. Maybe I was simply sitting in the kind of moment that leads to knowing.

I’m no longer measuring my life by what’s missing, but by what’s real. I am deepening my awareness of who I am and accepting that my way of connecting, living, loving, and protecting myself is not broken. It’s sacred.

“Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” -bell hooks

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