To Get Some Re-ci-pro-ci-ty

… or whatever Lauryn Hill said

There’s a kind of exhaustion that comes from loving someone who will never have the bandwidth to love you the way you need. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s not even that they’re unwilling. It’s that their world, full of weighty responsibilities and constant demands, has no room for the kind of consistency love requires.

At first, you understand. How could you not? You see their work, the pressure, the sheer magnitude of what they carry every day. You don’t just accept their version of “busy”; you respect it. You admire it. But over time, understanding morphs into self-sacrifice. You begin shrinking your needs to accommodate their limits. You convince yourself, This is just how it is.

They send the texts (and call occasionally). They stay in touch. But something still feels missing. It’s not the words themselves; it’s the effort behind them, the depth, the consistency of truly being seen and valued. You’re always wondering if what you’re getting is all they can give, or if they just don’t think to give more. And you start to feel the weight of being the one who carries the emotional load.

You tell yourself they’re doing the best they can… and maybe they are. But there’s a quiet ache you can’t ignore. You wonder, Am I asking for too much? Am I expecting more than they can give?

But you also know that effort doesn’t have to compete with ambition. Love doesn’t require grand gestures or uninterrupted time, it requires intention. A text that says, I’m thinking of you, backed by the energy that says, I’m showing you. A call, even if it’s brief. A moment of acknowledgment that says, I see you, even when I’m buried under everything else. Effort is about making space for someone, even in the busiest of lives.

I used to excuse the lack of deeper effort because I believed their busy was different. More valid. More important. But even the most important people make time for what matters. And I deserve to matter. Not as an afterthought. Not as something squeezed into the cracks of their day, but as someone worth showing up for.

This isn’t bitterness. It’s clarity. It’s recognizing that while I respect their work and the weight of their world, I won’t keep carrying the full weight of this connection alone. Love and care requires reciprocity. Not perfection, but presence. Not promises, but follow-through.

Because no matter how busy they are, no matter how significant their role, I am not insignificant. My needs, my heart, my energy… they matter. And it’s time I start believing that.