A Love Letter For the Ones Who Offered Their Soul — And Were Met With Silence
This love letter was written for every tender soul
Who has stretched toward belonging — who has cracked open their story and placed it gently at the world’s feet, only to hear silence in return.
It’s for the weary hearts who have tried to be seen without performing, who have offered their sacred selves like an altar — not to be devoured, but to be met.
If you’ve ever chased visibility and ended up feeling invisible…
If you’ve ever tried to share your truth out in the world and felt the ache of echo instead of embrace…
This letter is yours.
Dear Fellow Neurodivergent, Trauma Survivor, Me,
If your nervous system feels fried from trying to belong … this love letter is for you. Mine is too.
I love you, but I can’t live here with you.
I’ve spent a week trying, and my nervous system is zinging — overstimulated. Zapped. I feel echoes of old yokes, heavy and tight. And I refuse to be bound again. Chasing worth. Being seen. Offering my sacred parts like candy to be devoured.
The promise of community, so long as I bend to fit boxes. Play the game. Accumulate likes. Attract views to be noticed. My days of being a contortionist are over. I’ve fought really hard to stretch out, breathe, be. I won’t force myself back into a box just to belong. Just to expose all that’s sacred, only to hear it echo back empty.
Perhaps my cracks are too deep. Too fragile. Too newly filled to save my life.
Or maybe it’s not me at all — maybe it’s the environment.
I’ve been starved of nourishment for so long, I now require more. More than a performative platform can give. And that’s okay. I don’t need to fight another system for eyes or approval. I won’t pour my soul out for breadcrumbs in return. I am just learning my worth.
It’s no one’s fault, really — just the algorithms demanding we clamor and chase.
For some, it works. They saved my life through the words they shared. I love seeing them with so many likes. But I know I won’t survive planted here. My roots are just learning to drink Living Water. And this soil would suck me dry. I won’t return to brittle.
I want to live.
I’ll still whisper to you here. But this can’t be my home.
I can’t escape one system only to root myself in another.
Quiet is how I’ve healed. Cocooned away from the noise. Just Jesus, me, and silence. Spiritually homeless for a decade, I can’t play the games required to belong. I won’t live behind walls that block the Light.
I will be back, I promise — with love notes from the trail.
If you need quiet too… a place away from echoes and metrics, I know just where to go. You’ll find me there. With the Real Jesus. The One who set me free. Who found me in the wilderness when I thought I was cast out knocking on the door with His Name on it and no one would answer my cries for help.
He met me out here. Starved. Malnourished. And He’s been feeding me ever since. Teaching me to rest, to stop performing. Healing my cracks gently, slowly. No leaving. Healing can’t be rushed.
And I’m not rushing you either.
Know you are welcome to our healing sanctuary any time you choose. When it feels right. Our doors are always open. And we hear your cries. Come in whenever you like. And if you never visit, I’ll still send you my love letters from the healing path, as Spirit moves. You are loved either way.
#NeurodivergentHealing #AuDHD #CPTSDRecovery #Overstimulation #PerformingToBelong #ReligiousTrauma #TheGentleReturn #RayaFaith
#DearMe #HealingBurnout #NotHereToPerform
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