You probably don’t even see it, but this is what emotional erasure feels like from my side.
It’s when you’re physically here, but you erase my needs, my feelings, my voice. It’s when you decide what matters and what doesn’t, and somehow, my pain always gets left out. It’s when I lock my door because I need privacy, and instead of respecting that, you block other rooms — not because of the dog, not because of some rule, but because you want to remind me who’s in control.
It’s when you tell me the gardener’s coming, or Stacy’s coming, or that things must be done for “fire insurance,” and when none of that happens, you still check to see if I’ve complied. It’s when you withhold “I love you” like it’s a currency I have to earn, and think I don’t notice. It’s when you leave books, or drop comments, or laugh quietly on the phone — all while pretending you don’t know why I keep my distance.
This is what emotional erasure does to me:
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It makes me feel invisible in my own life.
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It forces me to question my sanity.
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It takes the strength I have — the strength I used to leave a bad marriage, clean out an entire house, and start over — and tries to shrink it down until I forget who I am.
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It turns every day into a battle to keep hold of myself.
Do you care?
Do you care that I’m not just “avoiding” you, I’m protecting myself?
Do you care that my silence isn’t pettiness — it’s survival?
Do you care that this is the reason I’ve said for years that once I divorce my husband, I will divorce you too?
Every locked door, every time I choose peace over engagement, is me reminding myself that I am worth protecting — even from you.
So, I’m asking you plainly:
Do you even care what this does to me?
Where softness, self-awareness, and emotional healing are allowed to coexist. Through reflective writing, grounding rituals, and intentional beauty, Sparrow Trades offers gentle support for sensitive souls learning to reconnect with themselves.
