The Beauty and Burden of Attachment

I’ve always been the kind of person who gets attached — not out of need, but out of genuine connection. Whether with my students, my theatre mates, or my colleagues at work, I don’t just meet people; I carry them with me. Their laughter, their stories, their struggles, even their smallest quirks — they stay.

And when people leave, as they often do, it affects me deeply. Perhaps because all my life, people have left. Friends who drifted away. Mentors who passed on. Students who graduated. Colleagues who moved forward. Goodbyes, no matter how inevitable, never stop feeling like tiny losses. And the truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

This is why I sometimes question if I truly belong in the helping profession. Counseling demands a heart that can listen endlessly, a strength that can carry not just your own burdens but the pain of others, too. And while I do my best, while I try to be strong, I often feel the weight of caring too much. Because I don’t just listen — I absorb. I don’t just guide — I carry. And in the quiet, after the sessions end, I’m left holding both their grief and my own.

Some would say the problem is that I care too much. But I don’t think it’s a problem — it’s just who I am. And maybe it makes the road heavier, maybe it makes goodbyes harder, but it also makes every connection real, every shared moment meaningful.

Because if the choice is between protecting myself by caring less or continuing to get hurt because I love deeply — I’d still choose the latter.

I may never get used to people leaving, but perhaps that’s what gives love its weight. Each farewell reminds me that what we shared mattered, that the bond was genuine, that life was richer because of it. And if my heart aches because I cared too much, then maybe that ache is proof that I lived fully, loved deeply, and walked with others in a way that truly mattered.