Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the kind of energy I give to the connections in my life, and how easy it is to lose yourself trying to keep a dynamic alive.

There’s a reason the ocean moves the way it does. It takes immense depth, patience, and warmth to keep reaching across the water staying up late into the night, extending grace, and trying to build a bridge across a massive divide. But I’ve come to realize that not everyone who stands at the shore is ready to meet you halfway.

For a long time, I gave unconditional effort to a connection that, in hindsight, that felt one sided. I thought we shared a genuine foundation, but the moment I drew a healthy boundary to protect my own time, sleep, and well-being, the illusion dissolved. It’s the quiet, heavy kind of grief, realizing you were pouring everything into something that was never truly matched, and being left to process the unfairness of it all on your own.

It reminds me so much of the nature of sea foam. Foam is born from powerful, heavy tides, it rushes onto the shore, delicate and full of life, giving everything it has to touch the land. But if the shore doesn't hold it, it simply vanishes into the sand, leaving barely a trace behind.

I’m learning that my care, my time, and my effort aren't meant to be swallowed up by someone else's void. I am no longer going to exhaust myself trying to hold up bridges alone.

Stepping into a fresh chapter now, learning to protect my peace, honor my boundaries, and save my depth for the places where it is actually met with respect.