It’s not often in life that you come across someone who truly sees the best in you.

And I don’t mean the kind of person who only shows up for the highlight reel, the celebrations, the victories, the polished, postable moments. Rather, I mean someone who sits beside you in the unraveling. In the silence. In the fog of anxiety or the storm of emotions you can’t always explain. Someone who doesn’t flinch when you’re not okay. Someone who doesn’t need to fix you but chooses, steadily, intentionally, to stay.

These people are rare.

We live in a world that’s always chasing the next shiny thing. Its become a culture that rewards performance, filters, hustle, and surface-level connection. In this world, distraction is easy. Numbing out is common. Vulnerability? Much harder. Presence? Even harder. Commitment, especially when things get uncomfortable, is almost non existent. As a result, ghosting becomes the norm.

But I’ve been lucky.

Meeting Me in the Middle of the Mess

I met someone who walked into my life not during a season of triumph, but in the thick of my CPTSD. They didn’t get the “presentable” version of me, the one who’s learned how to explain trauma neatly or smile through discomfort. Instead, they met the raw version. The one who was anxious and shut down. Ragey and overwhelmed. The one who sometimes didn’t have words, only silence. Or, tears. Or, distance.

And they didn’t run.

Learning to Trust Again

For years, I’ve spent learning how to survive. How to protect myself. How to avoid relying too much on anyone, because I learned early on that people leave, or worse, they stay but make you pay for it. I built walls, and I made myself small. To mask the mess when I could. And still, this person stayed.

I haven’t always made it easy. I haven’t always been my best self. Hell, some days, I’ve barely felt human. But they’ve never made me feel like I had to be anything other than exactly who I am. They didn’t show up with a savior complex. Nor did they offer easy answers or motivational slogans. They offered something far more powerful: presence.

Unshaken, quiet, consistent presence.

This Kind of Love Heals

There is something indescribably healing about being loved like that. Not for what you can offer. Not because you’re fun or successful or impressive. But just because you exist. Because you’re you. Because someone sees you, not just the curated, camera-ready version, but the broken bits, the scared parts, the angry, hurting, vulnerable parts, and still says, I’m not going anywhere.

It rewires you. It makes you question everything you believed about love. About worth. About what it means to be “too much” or “not enough.” It starts to teach you, slowly, gently, that love doesn’t have to be earned through performance or perfection. It can simply be.

That kind of love changes everything.

So if you’ve met someone like that, someone who doesn’t turn away when the mask slips, someone who stays when you fall apart, cherish them. Let them know. Thank them not just for the big gestures, but for the quiet moments where they chose to stay. Where they could’ve left and didn’t. Where they made love feel safe.

Those people are worth everything.

Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash