A Series: Lessons I learned teaching in my 20s

It’s All a Projection

We all view the world through our own unique lens, shaped by intricate lived experiences.
Everything we say or do is deeply influenced by how we grew up, what was done to us, the choices we made, and the ones made for us.

It’s our scariest fears.
Our worst-case scenarios.
Our insecurities that define the narrative for us.

It’s what you hate most about yourself.
The very thing you’d give your life and more to have.
The missing puzzle piece.
The definitions that were engraved into you.
The facts you were told were facts, so you accepted them as truth.

These things shape how you see others, how you speak to them, and the colors you paint them in.
The gentleness or the viciousness of your brushstroke.

Understanding this is the bridge between us.
It’s what helps us meet in the middle.
It’s where compassion comes from.
It’s how we forgive the gravest injustices.
It’s how we move on.
It’s how we love, lose, and love again.

As long as we agree to work on ourselves.
To fix toxic habits.
To unlearn ideologies that bring chaos.
To question beliefs that lead to bad decisions.
Then there will always be space for healing and moving forward.

I know you look at me sometimes with eyes heavy with doubt.
How could I still be here?
After everything you’ve put me through?

You must think I have an agenda.
That there’s some hidden reason I keep opening the door.
Even when I know you come with bombs on the other side.
Even when you push me away.

But I know someone hurt you.
I know the love you were taught was so broken,
you wouldn’t recognize real love even if it stood right in front of you.
I know you’re testing me—to see how far you can go, and how long I’ll stay.
I know you think you’re unlovable, so you assume I must be faking.
I know you think kindness is a gimmick.
Something dressed up to look pure, but never really is.

I get angry.
I question my boundaries.
I wonder who will protect me.
I ask if it’s time to draw the line.

But those moments don’t last.
Mostly, I feel sad.

I feel sad for you.
It hurts that you feel this way.
I love you more than I love myself.
And I will always open the door, for as long as I can.
Even if you shut yours, I will sleep at the doorstep.

It doesn’t matter how hard you push.
I am rooted in love for you.

You tear my gardens apart, and they still bloom for you.
You burn my harvest, but it would rot anyway if anyone else touched it.
You eat my heart out, and it still offers itself.

I want you to be happy.
You can’t compete with me.
I want you to win.
You can’t envy me.
Whatever I am, whatever I have, it’s already yours.

If it takes my whole life to prove that, I’ll try until the very end.

But can you pause for a second and imagine this?

What if I had no agenda?
What if you were truly lovable?
What if I stayed because I couldn’t imagine life without you?
What if you fell asleep knowing someone was ready to burn the world down to keep you warm?
What if you chased your dreams, knowing someone was always ready to catch you?

What if you stopped projecting—just for a second—and saw things through my eyes?

Please put your weapons down, reflect, and meet me in the middle.