Fragile Flame
Written by: Ally Bernales
Sometimes, I feel like my mind is a battlefield of doubts and overthinking, constantly questioning my worth and my place in the lives of those I love. The “what ifs” creep in quietly but grow louder with time. What if I’m not enough? What if I’m too much? What if the love I give so willingly isn’t enough to hold things together? These thoughts feel like tiny cracks in my confidence, and no matter how hard I try to push them away, they linger, shadowing the joy I should feel.
Being a woman adds its own weight to this struggle. We are expected to be strong yet soft, confident yet accommodating, rational yet emotional. But deep down, my heart is so loyal, so sensitive, that every little thing feels magnified. I love with everything I have, and I expect the same in return—not out of entitlement but out of a longing for a love that feels as safe and whole as the one I give. My heart aches not because I doubt others, but because I fear the fragility of the things I hold so dear.
I sometimes wonder if my sensitivity is a curse, if loving this deeply only sets me up for heartbreak. But then, isn’t that the beauty of love? To give without guarantees, to trust without certainty? I hope, not just for myself but for everyone, that we are loved the way we dream of being loved—fully, fiercely, and without hesitation. A love that calms the overthinking, soothes the doubts, and reassures us that we are enough, just as we are.
Yet, here I am, carrying the quiet weight of my fears, trying to convince myself that vulnerability isn’t weakness. I remind myself that love is a risk, but it’s also the most beautiful risk we can take. I just wish my loyalty, my sensitivity, my everything wouldn’t feel like a double-edged sword. More than anything, I hope for a love that stays, a love that grows, and a love that never makes me question if I’m worthy of it.
Being a woman adds its own weight to this struggle. We are expected to be strong yet soft, confident yet accommodating, rational yet emotional. But deep down, my heart is so loyal, so sensitive, that every little thing feels magnified. I love with everything I have, and I expect the same in return—not out of entitlement but out of a longing for a love that feels as safe and whole as the one I give. My heart aches not because I doubt others, but because I fear the fragility of the things I hold so dear.
I sometimes wonder if my sensitivity is a curse, if loving this deeply only sets me up for heartbreak. But then, isn’t that the beauty of love? To give without guarantees, to trust without certainty? I hope, not just for myself but for everyone, that we are loved the way we dream of being loved—fully, fiercely, and without hesitation. A love that calms the overthinking, soothes the doubts, and reassures us that we are enough, just as we are.
Yet, here I am, carrying the quiet weight of my fears, trying to convince myself that vulnerability isn’t weakness. I remind myself that love is a risk, but it’s also the most beautiful risk we can take. I just wish my loyalty, my sensitivity, my everything wouldn’t feel like a double-edged sword. More than anything, I hope for a love that stays, a love that grows, and a love that never makes me question if I’m worthy of it.
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