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# Wanting Connection Doesn’t Mean I’m Good at It
- URL: https://fessup.mymidnight.blog/wanting-connection-doesnt-mean-im-good-at-it/
- Published: 2026-04-30T14:30:48.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-07T16:11:27.000Z
- Description: How many times am I going to write about needing connection?
- Author: Jerry Fess
- Tags: mindfulness, letting go, surviving, depressed, loneliness, lonely, journaling, writing, depression, blog, breakup, connecting, mental health, connection, writing out loud, honesty, darkness, highlysensitiveperson, overshare, Newsletter, #Migrated-1791389245739, #Import 2026-10-07 11:10

Different posts. Different angles. Same ending.  
Connection.

You’d think by now I’d be better at it. You’d think wanting it this much would mean I know how to do it.

It doesn’t.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/3eb44917-5210-4dfa-b9da-94ff0db12e88_1402x1122.png)

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I treat connection like it might disappear any second, so I grab too much of it at once. I overshare—not because I’m an open book, but because I’m panicked. I’ve been told that more than once. Not gently, either. And yeah, the people saying it aren’t exactly experts themselves, but that doesn’t make them wrong.

I overthink. I overdo. I don’t know when the moment is already full.  
Too much, too little, or I miss the rhythm completely.

Connection shows up and I either rush it or I hesitate until it’s gone. Then I sit in the silence and complain about not having it. At some point, it’s hard not to see the pattern:

I’m not just missing connection. Sometimes I’m the reason it doesn’t land.

I don’t pace anything. I don’t ease into the water. If there’s a moment where something feels real, I chase it down. It’s like the door is already halfway closed and I’m trying to shove my foot in before it shuts. I’m so afraid of the “last chance” that I ruin the “now.”

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/ba09778b-d716-4a23-8fd6-55f13d668a56_1024x608-png.jpg)

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I’m also not good at subtlety. Hints, winks, the quiet closeness that grows in the gaps—I used to miss them entirely. Now I see them, but they feel like a wave crashing over me and I don’t know how to swim in them.

Sometimes I think I’ve gotten better.  
Like maybe I’m finally learning how to be in it without overwhelming it.

And then I burn myself.

Say too much. Stay too long. Misread it.

And I recoil right back into something familiar.  
Depression. Distance. Silence.

Because as much as I say I want connection, that space… at least I know how to exist in it.

Afterward, I sit there picking it all apart like there was a “correct” version of me that would’ve gotten it right. I try to find the exact moment it tipped.

The sentence too far.  
The second I should’ve stopped, but didn’t.

![red and white stop signage](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1532382147828-96bdb28b7b04?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=M3wzMDAzMzh8MHwxfHNlYXJjaHwxNHx8c3RvcHxlbnwwfHx8fDE3Nzc0OTkzMjN8MA&ixlib=rb-4.1.0&q=80&w=1080)

Photo by [Anwaar Ali](https://unsplash.com/@cinematicphoto?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog)

I end up feeling like a fool. Not because I wanted to be known, but because I don’t know how to hold a heart without squeezing it too tight.

I don’t think I’m trying to take more than I’m given. I just don’t trust that what I’m given will still be there in a minute. So I try to take all of it. All at once.

Maybe that’s not me being broken. Maybe that’s just me never having learned what “enough” feels like—or how to stay in a moment without trying to own it.

I keep writing about connection like writing about it will eventually teach me how to let it breathe.  
Maybe that’s the point of this. Writing it out loud until I actually learn something from it.

But so far, all I’ve really learned is this:

I don’t just want connection.  
I just haven’t learned what to do with it once it’s there.

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