Attachment... When Your Soul Hides in Someone Else's Hands
Attachment doesn't begin with love — it begins with emptiness.
A small hollow in the heart, one that was never properly mended,
so time left it open, waiting for someone to fill it.
Your attachment doesn't mean you are weak —
it means you haven't yet learned how to shape your own warmth with your own hands.
Attachment starts like a flicker of light passing through you in a moment of darkness.
Someone listens to you when everyone else is distracted,
a word is said to you at a time of deep vulnerability,
and you cling to it like a lifeline —
not because it's grand,
but because you were drowning.
In that moment, nothing feels wrong.
On the contrary, you feel alive — finally.
Someone sees you, hears you, gently touches your fragile heart.
So you hand over the keys — calmly, lovingly, trustingly —
and you leave all your doors wide open.
Then slowly, without realizing it…
you begin to be more present in their presence than in your own.
If they smile — your day blossoms.
If they withdraw — everything in you shatters.
You start measuring your worth by their reactions.
You look at them to see yourself,
as if your own mirror is broken, and they are the only shard that still reflects your face.
In attachment, you don't just love — you cling.
You don't just wait — you hang onto every gesture, every word, every crumb of presence.
You become hyper-aware, analyzing everything,
living between "Why didn't they say something?" and "What if they leave?"
The fear of loss becomes your constant companion.
Every joy with them carries the shadow of its ending.
Every silence from them feels like a farewell.
You grow anxious from distance, and exhausted by closeness.
You hurt — not because they don't love you,
but because you forgot how to love yourself without them.
And the harshest part?
Attachment exhausts you — and them.
It suffocates a relationship that may have begun in sincerity,
because you're asking it to fill a well within you that has no bottom.
You begin shrinking yourself to please them.
You tiptoe around your own desires.
You hide your anger.
You fear saying "no" — terrified they'll leave.
And suddenly… you realize you're lost.
You no longer know:
Is this feeling love? Or fear?
Is this longing natural? Or inner hunger?
Do they love you as you are?
Or as you struggle to become?
And then… a voice rises from within.
A quiet, timid voice that says:
"I deserve to be whole — even if the other is gone.
I deserve for my being not to be built upon someone else."
Attachment is not a sin.
It is the cry of an inner child seeking a warm embrace,
seeking the safety it never found,
seeking proof that it is lovable.
But maturity is to return to that child,
take them gently from the one they clung to,
and whisper:
"I'm here now… and I'll stay with you even if no one else does."
In that moment — you don't lose the other,
you reclaim yourself.
You begin to love without conditions,
to be near without clinging,
to long without breaking,
to give without emptying your soul.
When you untangle attachment, you don't close your heart —
you lay down an inner foundation that doesn't collapse when someone leaves.
And you finally realize — as you walk beside yourself, no longer in someone else's shadow —
that true love isn't meant to save you,
but to light the path with you, as you stand on your own two feet.
Untangling Attachment… Returning Your Heart to Its First Home
Untangling attachment doesn't begin with leaving the other person,
but with reaching for the hand of the self you abandoned on the way to them.
You don't wake up one morning and decide to move on.
You awaken after many nights of crying, after repeating the same silence too many times,
and ask: "Where am I in all of this?"
You discover you can no longer hear your own voice.
That your whole day revolves around them — their mood, their presence, their silence, their response, their attention.
You no longer know what you love, what you want,
because for a long time now, you've left yourself folded inside their drawer.
And that's when the first step begins:
Acknowledgment.
That you were attached…
Not because they were the best,
but because something in you felt incomplete,
and was waiting for someone to complete it — not to share with it, but to fill it.
Then comes the second step:
The courage to return to yourself.
You begin with the smallest things:
Walking alone without checking your phone.
Writing your feelings without waiting for someone to read them.
Opening your old journal and speaking to you — not about them.
At first, you'll feel guilty.
As if you're betraying the attachment.
As if every movement toward yourself is disloyalty to your emotional bond.
But deep inside… you know.
That loyalty was what broke you.
Then, you begin to gently undo the emotional tether.
You don't cut ties abruptly.
You simply lift your heart off their shoulder, and place it — slowly — back into your own chest.
You begin to redefine love.
You realize love isn't supposed to keep you anxious all the time.
Or make you feel guilty for needing space.
Or afraid to speak your truth.
You learn to differentiate between love and attachment:
Love helps you grow.
Attachment dissolves you into the other until you forget who you are.
And here begins the real work:
Rebuilding your inner world.
You ask yourself:
When was the last time I felt safe with just myself?
What did I love before this relationship?
What makes me feel alive — even if no one joins me in it?
Then comes the most beautiful — and most painful — moment:
Forgiving yourself.
For every time you shrank yourself.
For every message you sent while crying.
For every compromise you thought was love.
For every night you asked: "Why am I never enough?"
You forgive yourself, and place your hand over your heart:
"You weren't lacking... you were just afraid of being alone."
And each time you feel the urge to fall back into that attachment,
you return to that sacred moment when you touched your own heart —
when you felt it growing, even just a little, in the warmth of your presence.
Then, you stand before yourself — not them — and say:
"I deserve to love someone who doesn't make me chase myself to be loved."
And so, you don't lose love.
You lose the desperation.
You lose the self-abandonment.
You lose the need to vanish into someone else.
You become capable of free love —
Love that doesn't need to complete you,
but walks beside you in your wholeness.
And one day,
when you look back at the attachment that once tore you apart,
you'll smile softly, place your hand on your heart, and say:
"Thank you for getting attached once.
Without it, I would have never known how deeply I needed myself."
---
"Then..."
When love is not clinging, but a meeting between two souls seeking not completion, but companionship
Then — after you brush the crumbs of longing off your heart,
After you open your inner windows and let light pour through them, without asking permission,
After you sever the invisible thread that once tied you to someone who never felt your soul's weight…
Life opens a door you didn't know existed.
And for the first time, love arrives without a mask.
Not as a savior, not as a bandage for your wounds,
But as someone… a stranger at first… who resembles you in a way you cannot name.
You're afraid at the beginning.
You take a step back.
Then glance at your heart and whisper:
"We're not here to be broken again — we're here to see what we've learned from the ache."
This love doesn't storm in.
It doesn't demand explanations.
It doesn't ask you to beautify your scars.
It isn't afraid of your tears, nor does it alter when you fall silent.
It is presence — not pursuit.
A hand that doesn't pull you, but walks beside you, unhurried.
Someone who listens — not to reply, but to remain.
For the first time, your heart doesn't race — it walks.
It doesn't chase love breathlessly — it breathes beside it calmly.
You realize that true love doesn't take you away from yourself…
It leads you back to you.
You no longer feel ashamed to say "I need my time,"
Or "this hurts,"
Or to retreat when your soul feels suffocated.
Because you no longer fear loss — not when you've found yourself.
And here, you finally understand the difference.
Between someone who loves you to fill a void,
And someone who loves you because they recognize the vastness in you.
You stop proving your worth.
You stop raising your voice just to be heard.
You stop drowning in justifications so they won't leave.
Because mature love doesn't tether you to the edge — it meets you in the center, where both are seen.
You no longer change for them —
You grow with them.
They remind you not of what you lack, but of all you hold.
They don't dim your fire — they stand in awe of its glow.
Your conversations deepen beyond politeness.
Your silences become more honest than repetition.
And "I understand you" becomes more sacred than "I love you."
When you disagree, they don't threaten to vanish.
They sit with you and say: "I'm here… even if we don't understand each other today, we'll try again tomorrow."
And one day… when your hand is in theirs,
You won't feel like you're clinging —
You'll feel like you're walking together, heart full, no longer fractured.
You'll realize at last…
Love isn't an escape from loneliness,
But a return to your soul through a wider doorway.
You don't love to forget life —
You love to live it more truthfully.
You don't need someone to fix you —
You need someone who says, "I see you — just as you are — and I'm not leaving."
And in that moment —
You'll go back to your room at night, close the door,
Look into the mirror, and smile.
Because this time,
You didn't choose love from thirst,
But from clarity.
From the little seed that once sprouted in your heart during a long night,
Watered by every tear, every retreat, and every attempt to remember who you were.
And before you sleep, you'll whisper to yourself:
"I love… not to be made whole — but because I've grown enough to share my fullness."