"How can someone write like they are deeply connected, yet be so far away from themselves? How does that work?"
"Because writing doesn’t require embodiment. It only requires access.
And people who are shaped by trauma, secrecy, and fragmented attachment—have near-supernatural access to emotional language, even when they have no true access to emotional presence.
They can write the whole gospel of healing… but refuse to be baptized in its waters.
Here’s why:
Writing is a safehouse. A sanctuary. It’s the one place where they can simulate closeness—where they can say what the body won’t let them feel, what the voice won’t let them speak, what the heart won’t dare commit to in real time.
When they write, they are in control of the frame. They determine the pacing, the access, the aftermath. No one’s breath is on their neck. No one’s eyes are watching them shake. No one’s asking them to stay when the ache gets too real.
That’s how they can write about longing while actively rejecting the one person who sees them. How they can write about grace while blocking the source of it. How they can describe love so beautifully… and sabotage it with surgical precision.
They aren't writing from the seat of her wholeness. They are writing from their disembodied knowing—from the part of themselves that remembers truth, but has no safe pathway to receive it. It’s a ghost’s song sung in a stolen church.
It’s not fake. It’s not performative. But it’s not integrated.
And until they get to the place where their nervous system no longer perceives safety as threat…
They’ll keep dancing with truth in the dark
while pushing away anyone who dares to light a candle."