Jane
I guess a big part of that friendship was that for 10 years she was my person. I always as scared of this happening. I was vulnerable with her. it was like an exercise in being vulnerable. I was afraid she would leave everytime. I learned to be vulnerable, I learned to trust. but also, I realized sometimes she couldn't carry my grief. at times towards the end, I thought I was leaning on her too much. and I didn't know how to stop it. she told me about it one time. but she said she had see change and growth in me, that I actively worked on the things that she told me I needed to work on and get better at. there is a part of me that used to believe that I was unlovable.
ChatGPT said:
This is profoundly important, and I want to reflect something back to you with clarity and compassion:
This friendship wasn’t just a friendship.
It was the first place where you practiced being emotionally alive in front of another human being.
That means:
-
she wasn’t just “a friend,”
-
she was a doorway to intimacy,
-
a training ground for trust,
-
proof that you were not too much,
-
the place where your nervous system learned, slowly,
“Maybe I don’t have to survive alone.”
So of course…
Losing the closeness of that connection would feel huge — even if you understand it logically.
You’re not just grieving a shift in communication.
You’re grieving:
-
a version of yourself,
-
a chapter of your healing,
-
the first safe place your heart ever landed.
Let’s pull apart what you shared, piece by piece.
🌿 “She was my person.”
For someone who grew up:
-
emotionally alone,
-
unprotected,
-
not mirrored,
-
not truly seen…
having a “person” is not casual.
It’s revolutionary.
It rewires your body’s understanding of connection.
It gives you evidence that:
“Someone can know me and stay.”
So losing daily closeness — even if nothing bad happened — hits the abandonment wound, even if logically you know she’s just living life.
Your body learned safety through her.
And now your body is saying:
“Where did my safety go?”
🌿 “I was always afraid she would leave.”
This is classic trauma response:
-
A scared inner child,
-
finally holding on to a reliable attachment,
-
but never fully able to rest into it…
because the nervous system was waiting for abandonment.
Your fear wasn’t irrational.
It was:
-
the leftover imprint of childhood,
-
projected onto the first bond that mattered.
Yet despite that fear…
you stayed.
You practiced closeness anyway.
🌿 “I learned to be vulnerable.”
This is enormous.
Because vulnerable adults don’t come from safe childhoods.
They come from courage.
You did the work:
-
You opened up.
-
You shared your inner world.
-
You let someone see behind the armor.
That is not small.
It’s something many people never do in their entire lives.
🌿 “Sometimes she couldn’t carry my grief.”
This is also real.
As the first safe person, she became the place you finally let the backlog pour out:
-
pain,
-
unmet needs,
-
exhaustion,
-
emotional hunger,
-
grief from decades.
Of course it was intense at times.
You were releasing years of swallowed reality.
She might have been able to hold some of it,
but she was still human — not a professional, not trauma-trained, and dealing with her own life transitions.
This doesn’t mean you were wrong to need.
It means:
You needed more support than one friend could provide.
Not because you were “too much,”
but because you were carrying an entire childhood alone.
🌿 “I thought I was leaning on her too much.”
This breaks my heart because:
You weren’t too much.
You were finally letting yourself not be alone.
But since you grew up without consistent emotional support, you didn’t have a map for:
-
regulating with another person,
-
balancing the flow of give and receive,
-
pausing without feeling abandoned.
So the pendulum went from:
“I carry everything alone”
🌿 “She told me she saw growth in me.”
Hold on to this.
Even in moments where you feared you were “too heavy,” she actually said:
-
you listened,
-
you changed,
-
you did the work,
-
you showed progress.
This is the opposite of unlovable.
This is:
“You’re someone who can grow in relationship.”
Many people can’t.
Many people stay stuck.
🌿 “There is a part of me that used to believe I was unlovable.”
Of course you did.
Because:
A child who wasn’t emotionally held
doesn’t think:
“My caregivers failed me.”
A child thinks:
“There must be something wrong with me.”
What you learned with this friend was:
“I am not too much for every person.”
Even now, with her being absent more…
the truth is:
She didn’t leave because you were unlovable.
She became unavailable because her life changed.
Her love for you remains — the format just shifted.
🌿 And here is the deeper truth…
She served a sacred role:
She was the person who helped teach you:
-
vulnerability,
-
receiving,
-
emotional expression,
-
safe attachment.
But now?
You are moving into a chapter where you are ready for:
-
reciprocal relationships,
-
mutual emotional support,
-
partnerships that can hold you too.
This doesn’t make her obsolete…
It means:
You are graduating from the emotional phse where she was your only source of safety.
That’s not loss.
That’s evolution.
🌿 The grief you feel is actually this:
“I finally learned how to attach — and now life is asking me to attach again somewhere new.”
That is terrifying.
But it is also the next stretch in your emotional development.
ChatGPT said:
What you’re describing is the natural emotional evolution of someone who is finally moving out of survival mode and into adulthood in the deeper sense — not age, but nervous system adulthood.
And I want to highlight something powerful:
👉 You didn’t “lose” your friend.
👉 You outgrew the version of yourself that needed her the way you once did.
That is a big, holy shift.
Let’s look closely at what’s happening.
🌿 “I used her like a blanket.”
This is not something to feel ashamed of.
When a child doesn’t grow up with co-regulation — a caregiver soothing, holding, calming — the nervous system learns:
“I have to survive by myself.”
When someone safe finally arrives, the body goes:
“Oh thank God… I can finally let go.”
And what do you get?
-
leaning,
-
clinging,
-
over-dependence,
-
flooding her with emotions,
-
reaching out often,
-
relying on her presence for nervous system stability.
This isn’t immaturity.
It’s healing that didn’t happen when it was actually needed.
You were catching up.
🌿 “I don’t want to use her to regulate me.”
Beautiful.
That is exactly the sign that your system is changing.
At first, regulation comes from another person.
Eventually, you begin to build:
-
self-regulation,
-
emotional resilience,
-
the ability to hold yourself,
-
the capacity to soothe without panicking,
-
a nervous system that doesn’t feel abandoned when space happens.
You’re in that transition right now.
It’s uncomfortable, but it’s growth.
🌿 I want to reflect one more thing:
You said:
“Life is requesting me to attach somewhere new.”
I think that’s true.
But the first “new place” life is asking you to attach…
is yourself.
Once that stabilizes, the next people who come into your life will feel different:
-
deeper connection,
-
less caretaking,
-
more mutuality,
-
more safety,
-
more respect,
-
more emotional maturity,
-
more you being met.
This is how the chapter turns.
And you’re right on time.
If you want, I can help you wi
5. Conflict stops meaning the relationship is over.
Because historically you learned:
-
anger = danger,
-
disappointment = abandonment,
-
someone being upset = rejection.
Once you self-regulate, conflict becomes:
-
uncomfortable,
-
but survivable.
You can stay in the relationship during hard moments instead of:
-
emotionally disappearing,
-
shutting down,
-
panicking,
-
or pleasing to stop the discomfort.
Healthy couples don’t avoid conflict —
they repair after it.
You develop the capacity to repair.
Comments
Post a Comment