Standing At The Edge of Breaking

Life has a way of filling the spaces where thoughts used to breathe. And when you’re constantly showing up for everyone else, you forget that your own heart has been working overtime too.

This heart of mine — it has always been known for its persistence.

It stays when it’s easier to leave.
It understands even when explanations are incomplete.
It forgives even before apologies arrive.

For the longest time, I wore that as a badge of honor — the patience, the endurance, the ability to love without conditions. I believed that as long as love was genuine, it would always be enough to keep things whole.

But hearts, no matter how sincere, are still made of something breakable.

Mine has been bruised more times than I can count. Not shattered — not dramatically broken the way movies portray pain — but repeatedly hit in the same tender places. The kind of hurt that doesn’t bleed loudly, but accumulates silently.

And still, it kept caring.
Still, it kept giving.
Still, it chose to love in the same unconditional way it always had.

If I were to assess it now, honestly — it feels like it’s standing at the edge of breaking.

Not because it wants to.
But because it’s tired.

Tired of being strong by default.
Tired of understanding when it also needs to be understood.
Tired of holding space for others while quietly shrinking its own.

What I fear most isn’t the breaking itself.

It’s what happens after.

What happens if this heart, once so naturally warm, learns how to harden?
What happens if it stops reaching out the way it used to?
What happens if the genuine love it gives so freely begins to come with hesitation… or worse, conditions?

That thought unsettles me more than the pain.

Because I have never wanted to become someone who loves halfway. I have never wanted to measure affection, to calculate care, to ration kindness based on who deserves it.

But exhaustion changes people.

Even the softest hearts, when pushed too far, begin to build  walls — out of self-preservation.

And that is where I feel mine standing now — fragile… and deeply tired.

It still wants to continue.

It still wants to believe in people.
It still wants to give love the way it always has — generously, sincerely, without keeping score.

But it is close to surrendering.

So if there is one thing I wish people understood — it is this:

Please be gentle with hearts that continue to love despite their bruises.

Especially the ones that don’t complain.
The ones that show up smiling.
The ones that make understanding look effortless.

Because behind that strength is often a heart negotiating with its own breaking point.

Mine is still here.
Still loving.
Still trying.

But it is asking to be handled with care.

Not because it is weak.

But because it has been strong for far too long.