A Subtle Longing
I thought I was past “being chosen” until I realized I wasn’t
Not fully at least.
I’d done the work.
Welcomed the reflections.
Yet, there I was finding myself slightly fading by the presence of another.
It was subtle, but instinctual.
Where’d I learn to do this? To fold on me when faced with another? To leave what was valuable behind?
A “yes” when capacity was not there.
A “it’s okay” when things weren’t.
Each step away from myself…
A bending of desires when things didn’t quite align.
A holding of emotions when expectations weren’t met.
Tension that was hard to name because the step was small…just not in the direction of me.
But why? What about “him” was so significant to bend? Was it the “hello”, the attraction, the interest shown? The feeling that I’m chosen. Mhm chosen. After I’ve molded, tweaked and slightly dimmed parts of me?
Chosen after I’ve slowly moved away from me…
The struggle to accept that I just as I am was enough. A truth that sometimes can feel threatening to accept. Because I had tweaked, and bent for so long to achieve perceived acceptance. Doing anything less felt risky.
Risky. Yet, free. Whole. And a bit more connected to me.
Choosing me.
I wouldn’t be handing someone the torch to the most inherent thing hoping they’d define my worth or value.
It was not about him - at least not entirely, it was about being chosen.
Being chosen was about being loved.
Being loved was about being worthy.
It was about walking in what I knew but hadn’t quite absorbed in my body.
I find myself still sometimes bracing by a “no” from all those years ago.
Painful experiences do that.
Not because they erase truth. But because they create tension with it.
A disappointment.
A relationship where love felt uncertain.
A moment where shrinking becomes all too familiar.
That stayed in my body quietly.
How is it that I’ve searched for what already belongs to me in others?
The silent ache of “will they choose me”, might just be the thing that stopped me from choosing myself.
