The Shape of What I Was Chasing
For a long time, I chased the feeling of love more than the truth of it.
Not intentionally. Not recklessly.
Just unknowingly.
I wanted connection so badly that I learned to recognize it by its intensity. If it pulled hard enough, if it disrupted my peace, if it made my heart race—I assumed it must be love. I didn't realize I was chasing urgency, not intimacy.
I didn't ask whether it was healthy.
Only whether it felt alive.
When Being Needed Felt Like Being Chosen
There's a dangerous comfort in being needed.
When someone leans on you, confides in you, depends on you—it creates a sense of purpose that can feel indistinguishable from love. I wore that role proudly. The listner. The fixer. The steady one.
But being needed is not the same as being known.
And slowly, I realized I was loved most when I was useful—not when I was simply myself.
The Cost of Loving Without Safety
I ignored the warning signs because they didn't scream.
They whispered.
Inconsistency dressed up as passion.
Apologies that repeated instead of changed.
Moments of closeness followed by unexplained distance.
I told myself that real love was complicated. That depth required struggle. That peace meant boredom.
What I didn't understand was this: love that constantly destabilizes you isn't deep—it's unfinished.
Learning What Love Is Not
Love is not confusion.
It is not wondering where you stand.
It is not shrinking your needs to keep the peace.
It is not explaining away hurt because the good moments feel rare and precious.
Love does not ask you to abandon yourself to keep someone else close.
That realization didn't come all at once. It arrived slowly—through exhaustion, through reflection, through the quiet honesty that only comes after you stop defending what hurt you.
Grief for the Version of Me Who Didn't Know Better
There's a specific kind of grief that comes with growth.
It's not for the relationship itself—but for the version of you who believed that was the best love available. I grieve him sometimes. The man who tried harder instead of wiser. Who stayed longer instead of asking better questions.
But I don't judge him.
He loved with what he knew.
And he survived long enough to learn more.
What I'm Willing to Wait For Now
I no longer rush toward sparks.
I look for steadiness.
For clarity.
For someone who doesn't make love feel like a test I'm afraid to fail.
I'm willing to wait for love that doesn't need rescuing.
Love that doesn't confuse longing with connection.
Love that allows me to breathe.
Because now I understand this:
Real love doesn't feel like losing yourself.
It feels like finally being allowed to stay.
"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me." — 1 Corinthians 13:11