Inside Heilsche

My heart is stupid loyal sometimes. It volunteers for cages that don’t even hide their bars. And the most painful part is, I am the one who walks inside, decorates it, and calls it love, purpose, or growth.

This chapter for me is about that. How people touch our deepest wound, and how my own heart keeps saying yes to half‑thrones.

I don’t think people move because of money or “good offers.” Not really.

Sometimes it says, I don’t want to be abandoned again. 
Sometimes, I just want to finally be chosen. 
Sometimes, I want to be needed so much that I feel important.

On the surface, we say yes to jobs, relationships, roles. Underneath, it is that ground zero button that gets pressed. When someone reaches that place in us, logic becomes background noise. We start to build our life around keeping that feeling.

People can build whole structures around that button.

• Romantic ones.

• Spiritual ones.

• “Meaningful” ones.
• Important one

They say, you are this kind of person, this is who you really are, you are meant for this. And suddenly you are not just in a situation, you are in a story.

That is where my heart becomes dangerous, because it wants that story so badly.

I used to think empathy is always soft. Listening, crying together, holding space. That’s one side. There is another side that is much sharper.

My empathy can be like a scanner.

The way someone’s voice changes when they talk about their past. 
The pause before they say “I’m fine.” 
The little laugh after they share something painful. 
The way their eyes go far away when money comes up.

All of that is data. If you are sensitive and honest, you can feel where their ground zero is. You can sense exactly which words will make them open, or agree, or stay.

I know I have this ability. I can listen to someone for a short time and already see their weak point, their deepest fear, their favorite lie. I can talk straight to that place. I can make them feel deeply seen, almost exposed, but in a gentle way.

That is a gift. A gift that I didnt get in one night. But from constant learning and self reflect on everything I’ve been through.

But it is also a risk, because I know that if I ever wanted to, I could use it to steer people. Not with shouting or pressure, but with very precise kindness.

That is what scares me sometimes.

Identity is one of the nicest looking cages we have.
The moment someone says, you are actually this, and it hits our ground zero, we start to organize our whole life around protecting that identity.

• You are the healer.
• You are the strong woman.
• You are the special one.
• You are the one who understands everyone.
• You are the one who can hold it all together.

It feels like finally, someone saw us. It feels like truth. We think, yes, this is who I am. And then:

We over‑give because “I’m just a natural giver, that’s my soul.” 
We stay in painful dynamics because “I’m the strong one, I can take it.”
We swallow disrespect because “I’m special, I see the bigger picture, I should be above this.”
We explain everything away because “I understand everyone, I know why they act like this.”
We tolerate imbalance because “I’m the one who holds it all together, if I stop, everything will fall apart.”

The structure hurts, but the identity feels holy. So we stay.

I see how trauma can be turned into “calling.” It is beautiful in one way. It gives meaning to suffering. It turns wounds into work. But it is also dangerous, because it makes us willing to be used, underpaid, over‑stretched, and still say thank you, because we think our sacrifice is sacred.

That is not always calling. Sometimes it is polished self‑betrayal.

From the outside, it is very hard to see the difference between helping and harvesting.

The words can be the same:

“I’m here for you, I care, I want to support you.”

The gestures can be the same: listening, advice, comfort, presence. 
The energy can look soft and kind.

The real difference is in the result:

After this person is in my life, do I become more alive, more free, more myself? 
Or do I become more tired, more confused, more attached, more small?

Sometimes, the person who “helps” you actually feeds on you. They give you identity, validation, a sense of purpose. In return, you give them your attention, your labour, your energy, your loyalty. You feel grateful while slowly losing yourself.

And here is the uncomfortable part: 
I could be either side of that. 
I could be the one who truly supports. 
Or I could be the one who harvests, just softly.

It depends on how honest I am with my own hunger and power.

In my relationship, this whole chapter becomes very concrete.

I want something simple and deep: to be fully chosen and fully protected, in a clear, practical way. Not just words. Structure. Space. Priority.

Instead, I often find myself in a pattern that looks like this:

The love is real. I don’t doubt that. 
But my position is not whole.
I am important, but not central. 
I am loved, but not fully placed. 
There is always another structure that comes first ~ another home, another woman, another life that I orbit around.

So I sit on half a throne. 
Enough love to stay. 
Not enough clarity to relax.

And my body already knows the price. I don’t need a therapist to tell me. If I keep living like this for the next three to five years, without changing anything, I will become heavy, numb, and quietly resentful. My nervous system is not stupid. It is already sending the email.

This is not a theory. This is a simple prediction: 
If you live as second, you slowly start to treat yourself like second.

I see some painful patterns in me here:

• 1. Trading truth for a beautiful story

I tell myself the situation is special, complex, rare. I say, “People would not understand our bond, it is different.” Maybe that is partly true. But under that, there is one simple fact:

I am not positioned as the main one.

The main home, the main holidays, the main physical core of his life is arranged somewhere else. I get what is left around it.

I turn this into a noble story: this is growing me, this is deepening me, this is my spiritual training ~ Maybe. But it is also slowly starving the part of me that just wants a clean, open, unhidden place.

• 2.  Soft self‑abandonment in relationship

I ignore basic needs: clear safety, clear choice, clear space. I accept half‑light, half‑truth, half‑place. I lower my standards and then call it understanding.

My body feels heavy, sad, or shut down. Instead of respecting that message, I bury it under logic.

I say, “I understand his situation, his history, his pain.” My understanding becomes more important than my own feelings.

• 3. Volunteering in my own prison

There is a belief somewhere in me that whispers:

No man will ever fully choose and protect you.

So when someone chooses me halfway, my system goes, see, this is already better than before, don’t be ungrateful.

I see that the structure is not equal. I see I am not central. Still, I help to maintain it. I find my own housing, adjust my schedule, stay available, make it work. I act like the setup is normal.

I don’t just sit in the cage. I help to clean it.
And then I tell myself,

“This is better than being alone.”

That is how my heart signs the contract.

• 4. Using empathy and intelligence only outward

I can read my mother’s wounds, my family’s patterns, my partner’s trauma with high precision. I know where they are blind. I know their ground zero. I can explain why they act how they act.

But when it’s time to use that same sharpness on myself ~ where I betray myself, where I repeat my own pattern ~ I soften it.

I become vague. I tell nicer stories instead of exact ones.

I don’t like looking at the fact that I am sometimes the one hurting me the most.

• 5. Strong witness, weak negotiator

I see the whole map. Who is carrying more, who is sacrificing what, who is getting the better end of the deal. I am not blind.

But when it’s time to say:

• This is what I need.
• This is what I can’t do anymore.
• This is the minimum for me.

I hesitate. I go back to,

“I don’t want to lose this. I understand why he is limited. I can adapt a bit more.”

I would tell another woman in my position to ask for more or to leave. But for myself, I ask for less.

• 6. Attracted to “almost” as a theme

It shows up again and again.
Almost fully chosen. 
Almost safe. 
Almost having a clear home. 
Almost being the main partner, but still in a room that needs to be hidden, managed, cleaned.

I keep meeting men and situations that repeat this theme of almost. And a part of me accepts it, because it fits my old belief:

“This is probably the best I can get.”

One thing I want to practice now is looking at myself with the same brutal honesty and tenderness that I give to other women in my mind.

If I imagine another woman living like me ~ loved but not placed, present but not central, always adjusting around someone else’s main life ~ I know exactly what I would say:

• You deserve more. 
• You are not crazy or ungrateful.
• Your body is telling the truth.

So why is it so hard to give that same simple sentence to myself?

My ground zero is not mysterious. I want to be safe, chosen, in the middle of my own life and of the relationship I am in. Not at the edge, not sneaking around, not in “maybe later” space.

I don’t want to turn into a cold person. I don’t want to lose my softness, my ability to understand. But I also don’t want to be drunk on understanding while my own heart dries out.

What I want now is to become a different type of witness. A sovereign witness. Someone who can say:

I see your pain and limits, and I care. 
But I also see mine, and I will not step on them anymore.

I want to move from being the volunteer in someone else’s structure to being the gatekeeper of my own life.

If a situation doesn’t lift me, the minimum is I stop polishing it. 
If a relationship cannot place me cleanly, the minimum is I stop calling it enough.

And I want my daily actions to finally match my words:

• If I say I want to be fully chosen, I cannot keep choosing half‑spaces. 
• If I say I want safety, I cannot keep living in emotional grey zones. 
• If I say I want to be in the center, I cannot keep standing at the edge and pretending I am fine.

I am not the woman who will be fuel forever for someone else’s story.

If I stay on a half throne now, it’s not because I don’t know what is happening. 
It is because I am still scared to fully choose myself.

And I am starting to get tired of that story.