I stopped abandoning me in small, quiet moments long before it showed up in big, visible ways. It wasn’t one decision. It was a series of pauses where I chose not to override myself. Not to dismiss what I felt. Not to tell myself I was fine when I wasn’t.
For a long time, self-abandonment didn’t look dramatic. It looked responsible. It looked like pushing through discomfort. Like minimizing my needs so I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. Like telling myself I’d deal with it later, once things were calmer, easier, more appropriate. Later rarely came.
I was good at staying composed. Good at being functional. Good at showing up. What I wasn’t good at was staying with myself when something felt tender or unsettled. I learned how to move past feelings quickly, how to rationalize them, how to explain them away before they could ask for anything from me.
Stopping that pattern felt unfamiliar at first. When I noticed discomfort, my instinct was still to bypass it. To distract. To stay busy. To intellectualize. But instead of following that instinct, I stayed. I let the feeling exist without rushing to manage it. I didn’t demand that it be productive or reasonable.
That was the shift.
I began to recognize how often I had left myself in moments that required gentleness. When I felt disappointed and told myself not to be dramatic. When I felt tired and told myself to push through. When I felt unsure and told myself to figure it out alone. None of that made me stronger. It just made me disconnected.
Stopping self-abandonment didn’t mean indulging every emotion or letting feelings run unchecked. It meant acknowledging them without judgment. It meant listening before responding. It meant offering myself the same patience I extended so freely to others.
I noticed that when I stayed with myself, emotions didn’t escalate. They softened. They passed. The fear I had about sitting with them turned out to be unfounded. What I had been avoiding wasn’t overwhelming emotion. It was vulnerability with myself.
There was grief in recognizing how often I had left myself behind. Not in a self-punishing way, but in a tender one. I allowed myself to feel that without turning it into shame. I reminded myself that these patterns were learned, not chosen. And learning something new takes time.
Being emotionally available to myself meant checking in instead of checking out. It meant asking what I needed instead of assuming I should already know. Sometimes the answer was rest. Sometimes reassurance. Sometimes space. Sometimes nothing more than acknowledgment.
I also noticed how this changed my external relationships. I stopped seeking someone else to fill the gap I had been leaving inside myself. I didn’t feel as reactive or dependent on reassurance. I felt steadier because I wasn’t disappearing from my own experience anymore.
Stopping self-abandonment didn’t make me perfectly attuned or endlessly patient. It made me present. And presence created trust. I began to trust that I would stay, even when things felt uncomfortable. That trust mattered more than answers.
I still have moments where the old habits surface. Where it feels easier to dismiss myself than to listen. But now I notice. And noticing gives me a choice. I can return to myself instead of leaving again.
I stopped abandoning me not by fixing everything, but by staying. By choosing connection over convenience. By allowing myself to matter in my own life.
Final Thought
Self-abandonment is quiet.
So is returning to yourself.
And staying changes everything.
Disclaimer
Emotionally Available to Myself reflects personal reflection and emotional self-connection. It’s not professional advice or a substitute for therapy or clinical guidance. Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t.