Learning the Warmth of Myself

By Alexia Cretoiu

November 25, 2025

Image Courtesy: Pinterest

I grew up as an only child.

Not lonely, just self-contained.

I learned early how to belong to myself, how to move through the world without needing reassurance, how to keep my feelings controlled and untouched.

Independence became instinct.

Distance became protection.

For a long time, I mistook that for strength.

I didn’t realize it was also a kind of emotional winter.

I have always been deeply sensitive, though I learned how to hide it well.

Sensitivity felt dangerous in a world where I had learned to rely only on myself.

So I kept my guard up, convinced that closeness was something that had to be earned, or carefully avoided.

Love wasn’t something I expected to arrive.

So when it did, it felt unfamiliar.

Not overwhelming, just warm.

A quiet thaw, slow and almost imperceptible at first.

What mattered was the way that connection thawed me, even if it couldn’t stay.

For the first time, I wanted to be seen.

I wanted to feel chosen, held, safe enough to soften.

Letting my guard down didn’t come easily.

Every step toward closeness felt like risk.

I questioned myself, pulled back when I felt too exposed, tried to protect my heart even as it was opening.

And still, I opened.

That is what matters.

Because when love eventually left, it hurt not only because it ended, but because it reached something tender in me that had been protected for years.

The loss stung deeply.

Not because I am fragile, but because I am sensitive.

Because feeling fully means hurting fully, too.

For a moment, I feared this experience would turn me cold again.

That I would retreat into distance, convince myself that safety lives in numbness, that self-sufficiency is easier than vulnerability.

But I won’t let that happen.

I refuse to punish my heart for being brave.

The warmth I felt was never borrowed.

It was mine.

Love did not give it to me, it revealed me to myself.

That softness still lives in me, even now.

Even after disappointment.

Even in the quiet.

I am not weaker for having opened.

I am stronger for knowing I can.

And when I choose to love again someday, it won’t be because I’ve forgotten the pain.

It will be because I remember the warmth, and I refuse to let fear turn me back into someone I’ve outgrown.