Chairs That Never Filled

You keep looking at life like a table with missing chairs. Spaces where people should have been. Moments where someone should have shown up. You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but it does. Look at me. Tell the truth.

I got used to empty seats. I got used to waiting for people who never came. I got used to pretending it didn’t matter.

But it did. Every empty chair carved a space in you. Every no show taught you to expect disappointment. Every silence taught you to lower your hopes before they could be crushed.

I tried not to care.

That’s why it still hurts.

I tried to fill the chairs myself.

That’s why you’re exhausted.

I tried to pretend I didn’t need anyone.

That’s why you still feel alone in crowded rooms.

You think those empty chairs didn’t shape you. You think they didn’t teach you to overgive. You think they didn’t make you carry weight meant for more than one person.

I had to carry it. Nobody else would.

And that’s the lie you still believe. You think needing people makes you weak. You think asking for help makes you a burden. You think standing alone makes you strong.

It made me survive.

It also made you numb. It made you guarded. It made you build walls so high even the people who love you can’t climb them.

I don’t want to be like that.

Then stop pretending you don’t feel the emptiness. Stop acting like those chairs didn’t matter. Stop hiding the part of you that still wishes someone had sat down and stayed.

I don’t know how to fix it.

You don’t fix it. You face it. You admit you wanted presence. You admit you deserved support. You admit you were a kid carrying grown weight. You admit you were lonely even when you smiled.

I don’t want to feel that again.

You already do. You feel it every time someone gets close. You feel it every time you wait for the worst. You feel it every time you brace for someone to leave.

So what now.

Now you stop blaming yourself for the chairs that stayed empty. You stop thinking it was your fault. You stop thinking you weren’t enough. You stop thinking you had to earn a seat at your own table.

I’m trying.

And you’re doing it. Every day you show up for your kids. Every day you fill the chairs you never had. Every day you become the presence you needed. Every day you break the pattern that raised you.

Maybe that’s why God kept you alive. Maybe that’s why you feel absence so deeply. Maybe that’s why you’re still here. Because you were meant to build a table where nobody sits alone.

The chairs that never filled didn’t define you. They prepared you to become the man who fills them for others.