Let's tell the truth. You don't actually want love. Not yet. What you want, what you've been chasing, is to be picked, chosen, validated. You want someone to point at you and say «You. You're it. You're finally enough now. I see you. I choose you.» Because somewhere deep down in your system, you internalized a very dangerous equation. To be chosen is to be safe. To be desired is to be valuable, to be wanted is to be worthy, and anything that threatens that equation, anything that reminds you that real love is quiet and steady, you reject it. Because being picked by someone you had to earn, especially someone emotionally unavailable, chaotic, hard to impress, feels like redemption, feels like healing. It's not. It's just another performance. You know what? Let's rewind because this didn't start with romance. This started long before. Maybe it was a parent whose love you had to earn, a caregiver who praised you only when you were useful, but never when you were hurting, a family system that rewarded performance and punished emotional needs. So you adapted. You learned to be easy, charming, smart, helpful, pleasant, never too much. You became whoever you needed to be just to avoid abandonment.

You became the version of yourself that was most likely to be chosen, and you buried the version of you that wasn't. Now you're grown, but the wound remains. You say you want love, but what you mean is validation. You say you want partnership, but you mean a witness who will finally say you're good enough. You mistake anxiety for chemistry. You mistake distance for mystery. You mistake someone's unpredictability for a challenge you need to win. Because deep down, you believe that the harder they are to earn, the more valuable you must be if they choose you. So you chase unavailable people and call it fate. You pine after the one who won't text back and call it “romantic tension”. You ignore the steady love that feels unfamiliar because deep down, your nervous system is wired for chaos. Let me say this as clearly as possible: You are not addicted to love. You are addicted to performance. You are addicted to pursuit. You are addicted to trying to prove that you're enough. And love? True, grounded, emotionally secure love. It won't make you prove anything, which is why it feels boring, foreign, off. Because real love doesn't spike your nervous system.

It doesn't trigger your flight or fight. It doesn't make you question your worth every five minutes. Real love doesn't feel like conquest. It feels like home. And to someone who was raised to perform, home feels suspicious, because it doesn't ask you to earn it. So, my darling, what are you really afraid of? Because you're not afraid of rejection. You are afraid of being seen without the sparkle. You are afraid of being held when you're not impressive. You are afraid of being truly known because what if… What if when you finally stop performing, no one stays? What if when the mask comes off, the love disappears. That's the core wound. That's the hunting fear. So you keep reaching for the fantasy. If I can get that person to choose me, that person, the avoidant one, the emotionally distant one, the one who doesn't choose anyone, then maybe I'm finally good enough. But that's not healing. That's self abandonment in disguise. That's tying your worst to someone else's inability to love properly. You don't want to be loved. You want to be exceptional. You want to be the one who changed them. You want to be the one they couldn't ignore.

You want to be the person who finally got through to someone who would never let anyone else in. Because if you can earn the love of the emotionally unavailable, then maybe finally you can stop doubting yourself. You can stop asking what's wrong with you. But this is where the whole thing collapses, my love, because even if they choose you, you still won't believe it. Because the wound didn't begin with them. It began with you. And no one can love you into healing the parts of yourself you refuse to meet. So how do you heal this? How do you go from chasing validation to actually letting yourself be loved? First, you grieve. You grieved a self who thought she had to be desirable, to be kept. You grieved the little girl who believed she had to be perfect. To be loved. You grieved the teenage version of you who thought being picked was proof of her value, and then you learn. You stop turning love into a reward system. You stop auditioning. You stop trying to be the most, the smartest, the sexiest, the easiest, the least complicated, the most healed. You stop treating relationships like a test you need to pass. You stop making your personality a resume, and you start doing the unthinkable.

You let yourself be ordinary. You let yourself be seen. You stop looking for someone to come and pick you and start choosing yourself. You feel the heartbreak of how much energy you've spent contorting, performing, earning, chasing. You let yourself be angry. You let yourself be messy. You let yourself mourn all the versions of you that were lovable but was never loved. And you begin to ask the question «What does love look like when it's not rooted in pain?» You learn to sit still, to feel lonely and not making mean anything about your worth. You stop clinging to the people who confuse you, because now you see clearly that confusion is not connection. You stop needing to be impressive. You start being real, and it will hurt because your nervous system doesn't know what to do with peace. You ache for the highs and lows of the chase, but you keep choosing the quiet because now you're no longer asking for love to rescue you from yourself. And when someone walks away, you don't chase. You let them, because they're leaving doesn't mean you're unworthy. It means you're not their person, and that doesn't have to destroy you.

It doesn't have to destroy you, my darling. And here's what healing looks like. It looks like being okay when no one texts back. It looks like not attaching your worth to how wanted you feel. It looks like letting someone love you on your average days, not just your best ones. It looks like falling apart and not apologizing for it. It looks like no longer chasing people who make you feel small just so you can prove that you're worthy of being seen. Because here's the truth that changes everything. You were never meant to be picked. You were supposed to be seen. You were supposed to be known. You were supposed to be loved in your being, not in your performance. And the second you accept this, you become powerful, because now you're not just waiting to be chosen. You are choosing. You are choosing who gets your energy, who gets your softness, who gets to stay. And most importantly, you finally choose you. Not because someone else said you were worthy, but because now you know it.