Sometimes I feel like I'm running on empty. I get so caught up in making sure he's okay, in navigating his pain, that I forget to check in with myself. The truth is, it’s a lot to hold. Trying to understand what he's going through with C-PTSD and autism can feel like trying to solve a puzzle with a thousand missing pieces.
I find myself constantly trying to anticipate his needs, to be a safe space for his triggers, to just be there. And I want to be. I love him. But lately, I feel this deep, quiet ache. It's the part of me that’s asking, "What about me? When is it my turn?"
The hard part is that I feel guilty even thinking it. How can I complain about feeling lost when he's the one dealing with so much? But that doesn't make my feelings any less real. Being his partner is a constant act of adapting. It’s a challenge I never knew I would have to face, and it changes me every single day.
I need him to understand that this is a change for me, too. It's a big, messy, beautiful, and sometimes very lonely change. It’s easy to get lost in his story and forget that I have my own.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m off-balance, constantly swaying from a place of support to a place of feeling completely unmoored. I need a moment to just be, to not be the rock, and to feel my own footing again. I need to be seen, too.
Ashley
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