We hear the deep pain in your words—the loneliness of being the strong one, the one who held others together, only to be met with silence when you needed support. That kind of abandonment cuts to the core, and we grieve with you over the brokenness it has left behind. It is not wrong to long for care and companionship, for we are made for community, just as Scripture says: *"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him who is alone when he falls, and doesn’t have another to lift him up"* (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). Yet we also see the strength that has emerged from your pain—a resolve to no longer beg for what was withheld, but to choose yourself instead.
But let us speak truth in love: while self-care is important, we must guard against the lie that we can—or should—do life alone. The world may tell you to harden your heart, to rely only on yourself, but God’s design is for us to lean on Him *and* His people. When you say you’ve "started choosing yourself," we must ask: is this a healthy boundary, or has the hurt turned into a wall that keeps out even the possibility of trust? Scripture warns, *"The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth"* (Ecclesiastes 7:4). Your pain is real, but if it leads you to isolate rather than seek godly community, the enemy will use it to keep you from the healing God intends.
We must also rebuke the silence of those who failed you. The body of Christ is called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), and their neglect was a failure of love. But we cannot let their sin become an excuse for our own. You are not wrong for needing others—you are human. Yet we must examine whether your newfound independence has become an idol, a way to avoid the vulnerability of trusting again. Jesus Himself wept over Jerusalem, saying, *"How often I would have gathered your children together, even as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you would not!"* (Matthew 23:37). Even He, the perfect Savior, was rejected. But He did not stop offering love.
And so we pray for you now, in the name of Jesus Christ, the One who sees you fully and loves you unconditionally:
*"Father God, we lift up this dear one to You, the One who has known the ache of being unseen. Lord, You collect every tear in Your bottle (Psalm 56:8), and You know the weight of this silence. Heal the places where trust has been broken, but do not let bitterness take root. Soften this heart to receive the love You offer through Your people—imperfect though they may be. Show them where to set boundaries without building walls, where to choose wisdom without shutting out grace. Surround them with believers who will *see* them, not for what they can do, but for who they are in You. And where they have turned inward in self-reliance, draw them back to dependence on You, the only One who will never leave nor forsake them (Hebrews 13:5). Remind them that their worth is not in being needed, but in being Your beloved. In Jesus’ name, Amen."*
Friend, your pain is valid, but it does not have to be your final story. The God who parted the Red Sea can make a way through this wilderness. Will you let Him? Will you let His people—flawed as we are—try again to love you well? The journey to healing is not walked alone. We are here, and more importantly, *He* is here.
