When You Don’t Know How You Feel

There is something rather unsettling about being okay with things you once thought would upset you.

I’ve not spoken to my best friend in over a month. And somehow, I’m okay. Or at least, I think I am. There hasn’t been an overwhelming urge to pick up the phone, explain myself, revisit conversations or find a way to make things feel the way they used to. It’s strange because this is someone whose presence has been part of my everyday life for so long. Yet, somehow, life has continued, and I’ve allowed it to.

I don’t know whether this is growth, acceptance, emotional exhaustion or simply a new version of myself that I’m still getting acquainted with.

I’ve also noticed how much my approach to life has changed. I used to be spontaneous. I could decide, sometimes at the last minute, that I wanted to go somewhere, see someone or do something, and just go for it. These days, I find myself gravitating towards people and spaces that might not necessarily make sense to everyone else. I am less interested in explaining my choices or making them understandable to other people. If I enjoy someone’s company, that’s enough. If I want to spend my time somewhere, I don’t feel the need to justify it.

Perhaps I’m becoming more intentional with my time. Or perhaps I’ve just grown tired of performing versions of myself that make sense to everyone else.

Then there’s the idea of forever.

I’ve almost given up on it. Not necessarily because I don’t believe in lasting relationships, friendships or love, but because I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of being the only person holding on to the possibility of forever.

Sometimes, it feels like you’re doing too much. You’re thinking ahead, making room, considering the other person in your decisions and quietly building towards something that the other person barely acknowledges. You find yourself investing in conversations about a future that nobody seems particularly interested in discussing.

And eventually, you stop bringing it up.

Not because you no longer care, but because you get tired of being the only one giving something a name, a direction or a future.

I wonder if this is what emotional detachment looks like. Not necessarily walking away in anger, blocking people or making dramatic declarations. Sometimes, it is much quieter. You simply stop reaching out as often. You stop anticipating things. You stop making plans around possibilities. You become comfortable with uncertainty, even when certainty is what you once desperately wanted.

The difficult part is that I cannot always tell whether I’m genuinely at peace or whether I’ve just become very good at adjusting to disappointment.

I still care about people. I still value connection. I still believe there is something beautiful about finding people with whom you can do life. But I am beginning to question how much of myself I should have to stretch, explain or compromise just to keep certain connections alive.

And perhaps that’s why I sometimes struggle to answer the question, How do you feel?

Because what do you call a feeling when you’re neither particularly sad nor particularly happy? When you don’t necessarily miss someone, but you remember what their presence meant to you? When you no longer feel the need to chase something, but you’re not entirely sure you’ve stopped wanting it?

Maybe we’re not always aware of the little ways we change. Perhaps we only notice when we look back and realise that the things we once made room for no longer occupy quite as much space in our lives.

I don’t know if I’ve become less attached, more selective, emotionally unavailable or simply more comfortable with myself.

I just know that some things that would once have demanded an emotional response from me now pass without much resistance.

And I don’t quite know how I feel about that.

Perhaps that’s the point.

What do you do when you don’t know how you feel?