The Fear of Being Hurt Again

Fear rarely appears at the beginning.
It arrives after love has tried.

After hope reached out and did not find what it needed.
After trust extended itself and returned wounded.
After vulnerability proved costly.

So fear learns to stand guard.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But faithfully.

It remembers what pain felt like.
How long it took to recover.
How deeply it marked you.

And now, whenever love begins to lean forward again,
fear steps in—not to destroy hope,
but to protect what survived.

This fear is not weakness.
It is evidence that what was lost mattered.

You may notice it in your body before your thoughts.
A tightening.
A hesitation.
A quiet pull to retreat when closeness approaches.

The questions surface gently:

What if this reopens something I barely closed?
What if nothing has changed?
What if I cannot survive another disappointment?

Fear is often misunderstood as resistance.
But more often, it is grief that has not yet felt safe enough to release its grip.

This message does not ask you to overcome fear.
It does not tell you to be brave.
It does not insist that trust return before it is ready.

It simply allows fear to be seen—
not as an enemy of love,
but as a witness to the cost love once paid.

And God is not offended by this fear.
He is not impatient with it.
He does not demand that you move past it.

He meets you here.

Where love pauses.
Where fear speaks honestly.
Where nothing is being forced.

And for now, that is enough.