When Love Feels Like a Test I didn’t study for!

 When Love Feels Like a Test I Didn’t Study For

I’ve come to realise that the most confusing part of healing isn’t the pain — it’s the moments that feel almost like love.

After years of emotional neglect, being told I was too much, asking for too little, and living in the shadows of someone else’s silence… I find myself stumbling when a kind man shows up. Not unkind, not cruel — just… not quite present either. Polite. Affectionate in words. But light in depth. Vague in connection.

And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m safe — or if I’m just being quieted again, gently this time.

There’s something tender — and sometimes maddening — about being told I’m “overthinking” when all I’m doing is trying to understand how to connect.

To some, a “good morning” might be routine. To me, it’s a quiet way of saying I thought of you.

“How are you?” isn’t small talk — it’s a thread of care I never had enough of growing up.

And when I say “I miss you”, it’s not because I’m desperate… it’s because I’m finally brave enough to say what I feel.

Because the truth is, I am injured.

I’ve been wounded by the long-term erosion of love withheld.

And I’ve learned how to stand tall, but I’ve also learned how to expect less.

Too often, I’ve mistaken crumbs for a meal — and told myself I was full.

I know where the roots lie. I know the shape of the hole my father’s silence carved into me — how it taught me to be quiet, to please, to expect love only when I’ve earned it.

And now, even a simple kindness can feel like lightning.

I don’t trust it. I don’t trust me with it.

I want to believe it’s real, but my hands shake when I try to hold it.

This is not a story of one man, or one heartbreak.

It’s a story of trying to unlearn survival in the face of affection that doesn’t quite reach the core.

I don’t want to be adored in words alone.

I want to be understood.

I want to feel safe to need, to ask, to rest.

I want to be met where I am, not managed like I’m fragile.

And I want to believe — deeply — that love is not something I have to earn by being low-maintenance, quiet, agreeable.

Maybe I’ll get there. Maybe I’m halfway already.

But today, I’m writing this for every woman who still hears an echo in her bones when someone says “you’re overthinking it.”

Because we’re not.

We’re remembering.

And we’re learning to want more.

And somewhere, quietly in the background, I hear a voice like Lacy’s — asking not for forever, just for presence.

Stay with me.

Not through fireworks and fantasy — but through the dark night and the cold.

Because sometimes, that’s the most romantic thing of all.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe