The love you're choosing is not the love you're seeking. You find yourself in the same looping drama, just with a different face across the table. You choose the emotionally unavailable one, the one who needs fixing, the one who gives you just enough crumbs to keep you starving. Or maybe you’re the one who runs, who builds a fortress around your heart so thick that no one, not even you, can find the way in. You sabotage the good thing before it can even take root, picking fights, finding flaws, creating distance. It’s a familiar ache, isn’t it? That tightness in your chest, the knot in your stomach that you’ve carried for so long you think it’s a part of your anatomy. This isn’t a personality flaw. It’s not bad luck. It’s a wound. A deep, foundational wound carved into your nervous system in childhood. It’s the echo of a time when your needs weren’t met, when your tears were ignored, when the very people who were supposed to be your safe harbor were the source of the storm. You learned to survive. You learned to be small, to be quiet, to be whatever you needed to be to