If a man distanced himself, it meant he was going through a difficult time. If he spoke harshly, it meant he was tired. If he didn't keep his promises, it meant he was simply confused. If he disappeared, it meant he didn't know how to explain himself. It was as if I was working as a translator for other people's behavior so as not to feel the pain myself.

From the outside, it looked like maturity. But inside, a emptiness gradually grew.

Because while I understood everyone around me, no one tried to understand me. My patience was perceived as normal. My gentleness as an endless resource. And my feelings faded into the background.

I saw this especially clearly after a conversation with a close friend. I was telling another story where I justified someone who had treated me badly. She listened, and then quietly asked, "Do you understand yourself the same way?"

That question stopped me.

Because I was ignoring myself. When I was upset, I looked for excuses for the other person. When I was hurt, I explained why they did it. When I wanted to leave, I convinced myself to endure a little longer.

I confused understanding with a lack of boundaries.

Now I still try to see the other person's side. But no longer at the expense of my own. You can understand the reasons for someone else's behavior and still disagree with it. You can empathize with someone and still keep your distance. You can know they're having a hard time and still admit: it's hard for me to be around them.

This was a great relief for me.

Because mature love isn't when one woman understands everything endlessly. It's when two people are able to notice each other's feelings.

And if understanding only works in one direction, it is no longer intimacy, but a habit of one woman to pull everything on herself.