There is a moment when silence starts to feel louder than words. A moment when you stare at your phone, wondering if this is what love is supposed to feel like,like begging for attention from someone who once swore they cared.

But here is what I have learnt: I'm not needy for needing presence.

I'm human.

I want to feel seen. Heard. Considered. I want the kind of love that shows up,not just in grand gestures, but in the simple, quiet consistency of "Hey, how is your day going?", "Hi, I'm going to be busy for a minute, but I'd make it up to you". I want presence, not just proximity. And if that makes me "too much", then maybe "too much" is the bare minimum I should have been asking for all along.

Because the moment you start rationing yourself in a relationship just to keep it alive... it is already dead.

I stayed too long in a love that made me feel like a burden. I found myself apologizing for wanting connection. For wanting to feel like I mattered. For hoping that my presence was enough to make someone respond before "100 hours" had passed.

And when I finally said something, when I finally stood up and said "This is not okay", the response wasn’t love. It was a door. A dismissal. “It’s not your life, it’s mine.”

And that was the loudest "leave" I have ever heard.

But here is what I want to tell you, and maybe what I need to tell myself too:

You're allowed to outgrow people who shrink your soul.

You're allowed to demand effort, not excuses.

You're allowed to need more than survival love—the kind that only shows up when it’s convenient.

You're allowed to say, "This isn’t enough",and walk away.

This is not weakness. This is clarity.

And so, this is me choosing myself.

Not because I don’t love deeply, but because I do.

Not because I’ve stopped caring, but because I finally started caring about me too.

I’m not bitter. I’m just done.

Done performing emotional gymnastics to prove I'm worthy of time.

Done defending the idea that needing presence is not the same as being clingy.

Done shrinking my voice just so someone else can feel comfortable in their silence.

This is me.

Loving.

Healing.

Walking away—but never empty.

Because I didn’t lose.

I learned.

And from now on, I’m walking with the version of me that doesn’t apologize for needing presence.

Because that version?

She’s not needy.

She’s real.