There was a version of me who loved too hard, too fast, too completely.
She didn’t know how to pace her heart, how to protect the softest parts of herself.
She just handed everything over — her hope, her innocence, her whole chest —
because she thought love meant giving until it hurt.
I look back at her now with so much tenderness.
She didn’t know yet that not everyone can hold a heart that delicate.
She didn’t know that some people love the idea of being loved,
but not the responsibility of being chosen.
I don’t resent her for the way she felt things.
If anything, I admire her.
She loved fearlessly, honestly, messily —
before the world taught her caution.
And maybe that’s why I keep returning to those pages…
to remember who I was
before heartbreak taught me how to guard my glow.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 