sometimes i wish i didn’t care, but then i wouldn’t be me

there are days when caring feels like a burden, like a weight i can’t shrug off no matter how hard i try. i catch myself spiraling over things that shouldn’t matter, holding onto words that weren’t meant for me, and giving my energy to people who barely notice. it’s exhausting, caring this much.

sometimes i think about what it would be like to stop. to turn off that part of myself, the one that stays up late worrying about things i can’t fix. to let people’s words roll off me, let their indifference slide past without leaving a mark. to live like those who seem so effortlessly unbothered by the world.

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it’s tempting, imagining that kind of freedom. to not care would be easier, simpler. i wouldn’t have to overanalyze every look, every pause, every slight change in tone. i wouldn’t lie awake, replaying conversations in my head, wondering if i said the wrong thing. i could just exist, untouched, unbothered.

but the truth is, i wouldn’t know how to stop caring. it’s so deeply woven into who i am, into how i see the world. every worry, every overthought moment, comes from the same place as the love i give so freely, the way i notice small details, the way i try to make others feel seen.

if i stopped caring, would i still find joy in the little things? would i still get excited about someone’s favorite song or the way their face lights up when they talk about something they love? would i still feel that pang of empathy when i see a stranger crying, that quiet urge to reach out, even if i don’t know how?

caring is messy and complicated. it hurts, sometimes more than i want to admit. it means opening myself up to disappointment, to rejection, to the kind of pain that only comes from giving a part of yourself to something or someone else. but it also means connection. it means seeing the world in a way that feels alive, even when it stings.

there are moments when i wish i didn’t care, when i envy the people who seem so detached, so unaffected. but i know that’s not me. caring is both my strength and my vulnerability, my joy and my sorrow. it’s the thread that ties me to the world, even when it frays and pulls too tight.

if i didn’t care, i might be free of the weight i carry. but i’d also be free of everything that makes me feel human. the love, the hope, the moments of connection that remind me why it’s all worth it.

so i care. even when it hurts, even when i wish i didn’t. because to stop caring would mean losing myself—and i don’t think i could bear that.