The Art of Chaos: Giving & Staying Whole

There was a time when love meant disappearing. If someone needed me, I went quiet on my needs. If someone pulled away, I chased. If the room filled with silence, I tried to fix it with overexplaining and overgiving. It looked like love, but it felt like shrinking. 😔

I am learning a new way. It is softer and also stronger. It asks me to stay present in my own body. It asks me to let the people I care for move in their timing too. It is the art of chaos in the kindest sense. Life is not tidy, so I practice balance inside the mess. Giving, while I remain whole. 🫶

I am keeping the private parts of my life private. Privacy is part of how I love. What I can say is simple. Distance can feel like winter. Messages slow. Silence grows heavy. On the other side of a screen there are pressures none of us can see. On my side, old alarms begin to ring. The urge to run or to plead climbs my throat. I breathe. I wait for the wave to pass. I choose language that is honest and gentle. I protect what is sacred, including what is not for public retelling. Hope does not need a spotlight to be real. ✨

I am untangling a pattern that used to feel like devotion. I proved my worth through sacrifice. If someone needed time, I offered days. If someone felt overwhelmed, I took on the weight. If money or logistics got tight, I offered to stretch until I snapped. My nervous system called it survival. My heart called it love. My life called it empty. There is nothing romantic about going past my limits. There is nothing brave about harming my future self to ease someone else’s temporary discomfort. Anyone who loves me would not want me hollow. I want to be generous, and I will not go beyond my means. That means finances. That means time. That means mental bandwidth. It sounds simple. It is not simple when your reflex is to give first and think later. I am learning anyway. 🤍

Silence presses old buttons. My stomach tightens. My jaw gets stiff. Thoughts begin to spin stories that no one approved. You must be done. I must be too much. I must not be enough. The mind reaches for control and starts guessing, rehearsing, and punishing imaginary versions of people who have not even spoken yet. When that rush begins, I return to my body. I name five sensations I can feel. Fabric against my skin. The warmth of a mug. The coolness of the floor. The shape of my breath. The weight of my hair. The body cannot time travel, which is why this works. ☕️🫁

Then I write two lists. The story I am telling myself. The facts I actually know. Those lists are never the same. I send one clear message. I do not interrogate. I do not accuse. I replace mind reading with clarity. I care about us. I am feeling anxious and I would like a quick update on how you are doing and what you have capacity for this week. Clarity returns me to myself. 🕊️

Boundaries used to sound like walls. Now they feel like bridges. They carry me from reaction to connection. They help the people who love me know how to love me better. I carry a few sentences like smooth stones in my pocket and choose the one that fits the day. I speak them in my natural voice, the one shaped by being a thirty-seven-year-old Jamaican African American woman who knows softness and steel can live in the same mouth.

“Baby, I want to stay connected, and I need tonight to reset. I will check in tomorrow afternoon.”

“I do not want to guess. Can you tell me what you need from me this week, and what you actually have the energy to give.”

“I want to support you, and I will not be a bank check to prove my love. Let us choose a plan that respects both of us.”

“My writing time from nine to ten is protected. After that, I am fully present.”

“I like frequent touch points, but I do not need daily contact to feel secure. Let us agree on a rhythm that works for both of us.”

“I can want you and still honor myself. If communication drops, I will ask once with a clear question, then I will step back and take care of my heart.”

These sentences do not make me harder. They make me honest. Honesty is intimate. 🌹

Space is not punishment. I grew up believing that love proves itself through constant contact. If we were not in touch, I feared we were not in love. Now I practice a wider sky. I can want to hear your voice and not need it every day. I can enjoy a flood of messages one day and welcome quiet the next. I can trust that the bond lives between us even when the phones are sleeping. Space lets desire breathe. Space lets both lives keep their shape. Space is not a threat to real connection. It is food. When I remember that, I offer grace. Not the kind that erases my needs, the kind that honors someone else’s humanity too. Everyone has history. Everyone has triggers. Everyone has rhythms that will not always match mine. Grace does not erase impact. Grace tells the truth with care. 💗

My creative life lives beside my private life. Some scenes are personal. Some are inspired. Some are stitched from what I have learned about hunger and survival and tenderness. Creative work can raise questions about image and perception. Two commitments keep me steady. I protect the privacy of the people I care about. If a scene echoes something real, it moves through the filter of consent or it is disguised beyond recognition. Fiction is a canvas. I do not owe anyone the details behind the color. I owe the work integrity. I tell the truth about my emotional weather without assigning blame. The clearer I hold that distinction, the safer my relationships feel. The safer they feel, the braver the art becomes. ✍🏽

Balance is not an idea. It is a ritual. When I get home, before I scroll or stream, I enter Draft Mode for fifteen to thirty minutes. One candle. Tea or wine in a real glass. Soft jazz that turns the world down. I do not edit. I move the story forward. When those minutes end, I am available for the rest of life. I am not resentful, because I already gave myself to the page. I am not ashamed, because I kept a promise. I am more generous, because I did not abandon myself first. 🕯️🍷🎶

Here is how I know I am not losing myself. I stop apologizing for things that are not wrong. I state my needs without a courtroom in my head. I spend within my means. I take time to think before I offer yes. I notice red flags when they wave, even when I want the color to be something else. I do not write stories in my mind and punish people for roles they never auditioned for. I ask the questions I am scared to ask. I make space for no, theirs and mine. I let grace soften the edges, including the edges I wear like armor. I remember I can be tender and still be specific. I can be sensual and still be safe. I can be generous and still be whole. 🌗

Reconnection begins with center. I breathe. I remember what is mine to carry. I choose calm language. I share impact without theater. I listen without a script in my hands. I release the idea that touch or talk will fix everything on the spot. I let laughter return when it wants to. I choose small plans instead of grand promises. Small plans are how trust grows. Hand by hand. Day by day. 💞

There is a version of love that demands an audience. I am not interested in that version. I want the kind that practices in quiet. I want the kind that gets up and tries again. I want the kind that can say I am sorry without a trophy, and I forgive you without a ledger. I want the kind that lets both people bring their whole selves to the bed, to the table, to the future. The chaos of two real lives will always be present. I do not need to erase it. I want to learn its rhythms and dance anyway. 🫶

So I keep a few promises. I will not go beyond my means to prove my worth. I will not let silence write my story when I can ask a clear question. I will treat space as nourishment, not punishment. I will protect my writing hour, then give my presence freely. I will let love be human and still call it beautiful. I will not confuse chaos with passion. I will choose steadiness on purpose. And when I forget, because I am human too, I will come back to these sentences and begin again. Beginning again is a sacred skill. So is staying. So is choosing softness without losing my spine. 🧡

If your heart is learning this with me, take ten quiet minutes and ask yourself three questions. Where do I give past my limits, and what would a kinder limit look like this week. What story do I tell myself when messages slow down, and what question could I ask instead. What ritual would help me meet my own needs before I try to meet anyone else’s today. Write one sentence you can send or say. Keep it simple. Keep it true. Then breathe. You are allowed to want connection without leaving yourself behind. You are allowed to remain whole and still love deeply. 🌸🕊️

I am learning. I am practicing. I am staying soft and steady, one boundary and one breath at a time. And I am letting my own brand of chaos become a kind of choreography. Not perfect. Honest. Lived in. Mine. 🌙