A Letter to the Ones I Love, Even When I’m Quiet

I go quiet sometimes. Not because I’ve stopped loving you, or stopped thinking about you, but because something inside me whispers that I’m too much. That I’m a burden. That maybe you’d be better off without me.

I don’t mean to leave. I don’t plan the silence. It just happens when the voice in my head grows louder than my heart. When mental illness tells me I’m not worth the time or effort, and I forget how to reach out.

But even in those quiet moments, I still love you. I still remember your kindness. I still hope you’re okay. I still carry you in my prayers and in the soft corners of my thoughts.

I’m learning to challenge that voice. To remind myself that love doesn’t require perfection. That presence can return, even after distance. That you’ve never asked me to be anything but real.

Thank you for loving me through the quiet. For not giving up on me when I disappear. For making space for my return.

I’m here. I’m healing. I’m grateful.