Who Are My People?

“Who Are My People?”

There was a time when I thought “my people” meant everyone I loved.
Everyone I showed up for.
Everyone I gave my time, my energy, my softness to.

But life has a strange way of teaching you the truth.

My struggles didn’t just break me…
they revealed things.
They showed me who stood beside me in silence,
and who disappeared in noise.

I have known pain — the kind that sits quietly in your chest,
the kind you don’t always have words for.
I have smiled when I was tired,
stayed strong when I was falling apart,
and kept going when stopping felt easier.

But in all of this… I found something.

I found my people.

They are not many.
They don’t always speak loudly.
But they feel like peace.

They are the ones who understand my silence,
who don’t make me explain my pain,
who stay — not just when it’s easy,
but when it’s heavy.

My people are the ones who don’t drain me,
they hold me.
Not perfectly… but honestly.

And maybe the most surprising truth of all—
I became one of my own people.

I learned to sit with myself,
to comfort myself,
to choose myself.

My struggles didn’t just hurt me…
they introduced me to love in its real form.

Quiet.
Safe.
Unconditional.

And now I know—
not everyone is meant to stay,
but the right ones…
they never really leave.

                                                KULSOOM AFZAL