A poem – story about anxiety

I grew up in a world where love meant togetherness—
where couples walked the same path, shared the same rhythm,
and slowly set their individual lives aside
to build one life as a pair.

I saw it in my parents.
I lived it in my own relationships.
Every time I loved someone,
I quietly stepped out of myself to step closer to them.

When I moved to the U.S.,
I noticed a different kind of love.
Here, couples don’t disappear into each other.
They remain whole—
two individual lives,
choosing to share space without losing shape.

And honestly, I find that beautiful.

When you keep your own life,
love doesn’t become a place to hide—
it becomes a place to meet.

I know this difference is cultural.
I’ve watched many of my Latin friends struggle with it at first,
confused by the distance,
mistaking independence for lack of love.

I’m in a relationship now,
and for the first time, it feels peaceful.
He is kind. He is patient.
One of the gentlest things that has ever entered my life.

He’s on vacation now.
And we don’t talk the way we usually do.

The silence—small and reasonable—
began to echo loudly inside me.
I felt anxious,
as if less presence meant something was wrong.

But nothing is wrong.

He’s living his individual life.
Traveling with friends to a remote part of Mexico,
where reception disappears
and time slows down.
I know that place. I’ve been there.

I told him how I felt.
He listened.
He understood.
He showed up more.

And still—
the anxiety lingered.

So I asked myself why.

Why does this feeling remain
even when I am being cared for?

And the answer came quietly:
because I am learning something new.

I was raised to believe
that love should come first,
above everything else.
That devotion meant merging,
and closeness meant constant presence.

Now, I’m learning that love can exist
without disappearance.
That connection doesn’t require sacrifice of self.
That someone can walk beside you
without walking instead of you.

There is nothing wrong with my relationship.
There is nothing wrong with him.
And there is nothing wrong with me.

This is not heartbreak—
it’s a cultural shift within love.

I am not selfish.
I am simply unlearning,
and relearning,
at the same time.

I’m not asking us to give up our lives
to become codependent.
I’m learning to hold space
for two individual lives
and one shared story.

That’s why I’m sharing this.
Because anxiety often isn’t a warning—
it’s a teacher.

And the first step to calming it
is not fixing it,
but understanding where it comes from
and allowing it to be seen.

Only then
can healing begin.