Love That Hurts: When Queer Hearts Stay in the Fire

In Zulu

Ngifuna ukuthi uqondise ukuthi udaba oluncane. Ngalanguzulu, ngoba ngilifuna ngempela ukuthi uyiqonde into engifuna ngiyithini. Uthando lwethu ngu-queer—kunjalo, kuyinto ephuthumayo, kuyintambo eyodwa okuyihlosa kuye kwaqala ngaphandle kokubona isibindi. Ngoba siyazi ukuthi kuyinto engafanele, kodwa sihlala siyaphila kulo.

Ngelithuba ngiyabhala le, ngizadlala umculo we-Sadecks ngamaphuthelo eziphazanyayo. I-Mbuso yendalo. Kuyekelwe. Kodwa lapho uthando lusasindiswa ngokomlando wakho we-abuse, noma isigodlo se-attachment, lowo muculo uyoba yindlela engizobalayo ukuthi ngiboneke ngani na.

Ngifakela isigodi esidala ukuthi ngithole ingubo kaThandi, ngendlela engathandayo. Kodwa emva kwalokho ngizazi ukuthi akuyona ingubo yami, kodwa yengane yakhe. Kuyindlela engazise ngayo ukuthi ngifuna ukuthi sibaleke manje sihlanjululwe. Kuyindlela engazama ngayo ukuthi ngibuyele emuva, kuthi ungishiyi.

Ukuthi ikhiye iyayiqonda into ngiyenzayo? ngl umama wakhe.

Kodwa ngomuthandazo, akuwona njalo. Sithi izinhlangothi zithile ezithetha ngokomthandazo zithi “buyela emuva.” Kodwa kungani? Ngoba ubuqhetsele buhambe ngezindlela ezingathandeki zodwa.

Ukuthanda umuntu ofihlela iziqu zakho ngalokho akusayi kube yini—kuyinto ebalulekile. Kodwa uma ungena futhi ngoba uwuthanda noma ungathandi ukuthi uhleleke, uyazi ukuthi kufuna ukuthi ubuhle bakhuleke?

Ukuthi usebenzisa isikhalo se-anxious attachment, kuyinto. Kodwa kuyinto ebalulekile ukuthi ubone ukuthi izici zokuhlanganiswa ziyahlupha. Akupheli ngokuthembeka kwakho kuphela. Ungawadingi umuntu ozokuthi ukuthembeka kwakho kuyindlela engazama ngayo ukuthi akushiye.

Kungani sihlala siyabuyela emuva?

Ngiyazi. Ngingumama. Ngiyakhumbula lapho ngibuyela kumama wami ngaphambi kokuthi ibheleke. Ngiyayiqonda into engenzileyo. Ngiyayithanda kakhulu kodwa ngayihlupha. Ngiyayazi ukuthi kuyinto enzima kakhulu kukhumbula ukuthi ungathi ungasebenzi umsebenzi wakho kodwa ungathola inkhokhelo.

Lapho uthando lwakho luzimele, uchasa izinhliziyo zakho. Kodwa zizinga eliphezulu. Ungabukeli umsebenzi wakho umunye. Kodwa uchasa.

Siyathola amathuba okubuyela emuva—phaqa izinkonzo, qhubeka nembizo, shaya isivumelwano. Uma ngifuna ukuthatha ukuphazanyiswa njengesinqumo, yini ngifuna ukuthola?

Izigaba zokugcina izinhliziyo zidakwa ngokomlando wakho. Uma wancediswe njengendoda evalelwa, noma wabe nemzalwane ethintile, uthi zombili izinhlo ngezizwe zakho zihlupha. Kodwa akulindelwe ukuthi uzihlupha.

Ngizama ngokuthi ngcwethe umbala omuhle wethu. Kodwa into yokuthi ngicibisisa ukuthi akuyi ngempela—yinto ebalulekile.

Imvuthuko engu-reconciliation, kufuneka ibe nezilingo. Uma wona ongathandayo akuyona yena, kungani okwenzela ukuthi ubeke izilingo zika-reconnection?

Phawula kakhulu ukuthi into oyithemba yizinyathelo. Akuyi izimemo. Hlala ujonge izinto ezenteka ngempela.

Ngiyaphawula ukuthi abanye bethu bayishaya isithombe se-“forever” lapho isithombe sesenginye sifika emuva emanzini. Kodwa ungabi bani na?

Thatha inhliziyo yakho futhi yavula. Ungayigcina yonke lapho.

English Version

Something quick. You need to hear this. I’m writing this in Zulu first because I need you to feel it before you think it. Our love as queer people—it’s beautiful, but it’s also a blade that cuts before you see the blood. We know it’s wrong, but we stay anyway.

Right now I’m listening to Sade on loop. Rain tapping my window. It’s allowed. But when love is tangled with your history of being abused or your anxious attachment, that song becomes the soundtrack of how I keep choosing to stay small.

I once bought Thandi’s favourite sweater even though I hate that colour. I told myself it was a gift. But really, it was a silent plea: *Please don’t leave me alone.* A way to pull her back in. A way to make her feel needed.

Does the person even notice what you’re doing? Most times, no.

But still, I prayed. Because some of us were taught to pray for reconciliation like it’s the only answer. But why? Because fear moves in quiet, hungry ways.

Loving someone who hides your pain instead of holding it—that’s not love. But when you go back because you’re scared of being nothing without them, you know you’re not healing, you’re re-enacting.

If you’re using your anxious attachment as a bridge back, stop. See it. But don’t glorify it. Connection patterns aren’t destiny—your past isn’t a script you have to finish.

Why do we keep going back?

I know. I’ve done it. I remember crawling back to my mother before she passed. I understood my own actions then. I loved her too much but I hated the pain. I know how hard it is to accept that you weren’t failing—you were surviving.

When your love is conditional, you start erasing parts of yourself. But it feels safe. You don’t have to show up fully. You just have to perform.

We get chances to reconcile—send messages, keep calling, break promises gently. But if I’m choosing pain as a decision, what am I really chasing?

Your emotional triggers are shaped by history. If you were rejected as a queer kid, or abused by someone who said they loved you, no wonder your peace feels foreign. But peace isn’t betrayal.

I’ve tried softening our edges to fit. But pretending it’s fine when it’s not—that’s not love. It’s exhaustion dressed up as loyalty.

Reconciliation needs real boundaries. If the person you miss isn’t the person you need, why are you planning for reconnection?

Pay attention to actions. Not promises. Watch what actually happens.

I notice we often replace the idea of “forever” with survival. We call it love when really it’s familiarity wearing someone else's face.

Take your heart and open it—slow. But don’t lock it away forever.

ngl I stayed too long once Thought love meant suffering without complaint Now I know