We are taught, from the very beginning, to sort our feelings into neat, orderly boxes. This is joy. That is sorrow. This is love. That is anger. We are given an emotional map that insists a single road can only lead to one destination. But the heart is not a cartographer; it is a wild and untamed landscape where weather systems collide. To love someone who hurt you is not a paradox. It is a testament to the profound complexity of your own spirit. You can miss the home you fle

We are sold a story of perfect connections. The soulmate who anticipates our every need. The parent whose love is an unwavering sun. The friend whose loyalty never buckles. We are told to hold out for this, to settle for nothing less than the sublime. It is a beautiful story. And for most of us, it is a fiction that leaves us lonely. The truth is, the architecture of most human connections is built with cracks. Cracks are a feature, not a bug and like the Cohen song says, '𝑻

When someone we love is in pain, it’s natural to feel it ourselves. A child comes home upset because a friend was unkind, and our first thought is, “𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅, 𝒐𝒓 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓.” When an adult we care for is struggling, we want to step in, take charge, and fix it. That instinct comes from love. But sometimes, without realising it, love crosses into enmeshment. Their problems start to feel like our own.