I learned to give what I needed

"Maybe you're so good at comforting people because you learned the language of being left alone with your own hurt."

I think I became good at knowing what people need because I spent a lot of time figuring out what I needed without telling anyone.

I notice small things. The way someone suddenly gets quieter. The "I'm fine" that comes too quickly. The way people change the subject when they're actually hoping you won't.

Maybe I notice because I've done the same.

I know what it's like to want someone to ask again, but still say "nothing." To want someone to stay, but never actually ask them to. To wish someone would just understand, because explaining why you're hurting somehow feels worse than being hurt.

So I learned to make things easier for other people.

I tell them they're allowed to be tired. I tell them they don't have to have an answer yet. I tell them that needing someone doesn't make them difficult to love.

And I believe all of it.

Just not always when it comes to me.

Maybe that's why I know what to say when someone is falling apart. Not because I have some special kind of wisdom, but because some feelings are familiar enough that you don't need to be introduced to them.

Sometimes I think the comfort I give people is just everything I wish someone had noticed about me sooner.

And maybe that's the part I still haven't figured out —

how to be honest about needing the same things I'm so good at giving.