He still thinks he’s in his mother’s womb

That difference is everything.

Because while the womb provided safety, it also limited possibility. It was a place of existence, not growth. The world, on the other hand, is unpredictable and often difficult—but it is also expansive.

It allows for change.

For learning.

For becoming.

He doesn’t have to abandon the part of him that longs for warmth and ease. That part is human. But it cannot be the foundation of his expectations anymore. It has to become one voice among many, not the one that dictates how reality should behave.

When he begins to understand this, something shifts.

The world stops feeling like a place that constantly disappoints him, and starts feeling like a place he can navigate. Relationships become less about finding someone to complete him, and more about sharing experiences with others who are also figuring things out.

And perhaps most importantly, he starts to see himself differently.

Not as someone waiting to be taken care of, but as someone capable of taking part.

He still remembers, in some distant way, what it felt like to be held without effort, to exist without pressure. That memory doesn’t disappear. But it no longer defines his expectations.

Instead, it becomes what it always was meant to be: a beginning.

Not a destination he must return to, but a place he has already outgrown.

Because the truth is, no one is meant to stay in the womb.

Not physically.

Not emotionally.

Not psychologically.

And while part of him may always miss that simplicity, another part—stronger now, more aware—begins to understand something deeper:

Life was never supposed to feel like that forever.

It was supposed to move.