Learning to Choose Myself Instead of Asking to Be Chosen

There was a moment — sitting in my car, engine off, keys still in my hand — when I realized how tired I was.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes.

Not the kind a weekend off solves.

The kind that comes from waiting.

Waiting for reassurance.

Waiting for consistency.

Waiting for someone else to meet you where you’ve already been standing.

I didn’t cry dramatically. I didn’t collapse into some movie-worthy breakdown. I just sat there and thought, Oh. This is what exhaustion feels like.

For a long time, I thought loving harder was the answer. If I explained myself better, waited longer, stayed softer, prayed more intentionally — eventually love would settle into something safe.

But what I was really doing was asking to be chosen.

And I was asking loudly, quietly, patiently, desperately, faithfully — in every way except the one that mattered most.

I wasn’t choosing myself.

When Chemistry Feels Holy (But Isn’t Peace)

If you’ve ever felt deeply connected to someone who couldn’t quite show up the way you needed, you know the mental gymnastics that follow.

You start spiritualizing uncertainty.

You call anxiety “passion.”

You label inconsistency as “timing.”

I told myself I was being understanding. Grace-filled. Faith-led.

But if I’m honest, I was also afraid.

Afraid that wanting steadiness meant I was asking for too much.

Afraid that choosing peace meant I was giving up on love.

Afraid that if I stopped trying, there would be nothing left.

So I stayed longer than I should have — not because I wasn’t strong, but because I was hopeful.

And hope, when it’s untethered from reality, can quietly keep you stuck.

The Pattern I Had to Name

This wasn’t about one relationship.

It never is.

It was about a pattern I’ve had to look at gently but honestly.

I’ve always been good at staying.

At understanding.

At holding space.

I can sit in discomfort longer than most people. I can make room for complexity. I can see potential even when it’s buried under confusion.

Those are beautiful qualities.

But unmanaged, they turn into self-abandonment.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that love meant endurance. That being “chosen” required patience. That asking for consistency was pressure.

And without realizing it, I made my needs negotiable.

The Shift Didn’t Come With Drama

Here’s the part that surprised me most:

Choosing myself didn’t come with fireworks.

It came quietly.

It came in the middle of the night when my heart was racing and my body felt tight — and instead of reaching for reassurance, I reached for stillness.

It came the morning after when I didn’t send another message.

Didn’t clarify.

Didn’t soften my truth.

I didn’t leave because I stopped loving.

I left because I started listening — to my body, my faith, and the version of me who was asking for rest.

Faith Wasn’t Telling Me to Try Harder

For a long time, I treated faith like a rescue rope.

Pray harder. Wait longer. Be more patient.

But this season taught me something gentler and much braver:

God wasn’t asking me to endure confusion.

He was inviting me into peace.

I had to unlearn the idea that struggle equals virtue.

Faith isn’t meant to keep us in emotional limbo.

It’s meant to anchor us.

And the more I prayed, the clearer it became — not in words, but in my nervous system — that love should not feel like survival.

Choosing Myself Looked… Boring

No grand speech.

No ultimatums.

No dramatic exits.

Just quiet resolve.

Choosing myself looked like:

• not explaining my worth

• not chasing clarity

• not waiting for someone to confirm what I already knew

It looked like trusting that the right love won’t require me to shrink, wait, or convince.

And honestly? It felt boring at first.

Peace doesn’t spike your adrenaline.

It doesn’t feel urgent.

It doesn’t keep you up all night.

It just stays.

What I Know Now (And Will Not Unlearn)

I know now that:

• intensity is not intimacy

• potential is not a promise

• being chosen starts with choosing yourself

I know now that love should feel safe in your body, not just exciting in your mind.

And I know that asking to be chosen will always feel heavier than choosing yourself — because one depends on someone else, and the other is an act of faith.

If You’re Here Too

If you’re in a season where you’re tired of explaining yourself…

If you’re realizing how often you’ve waited instead of rested…

If you’re learning that peace doesn’t come from being chosen — but from choosing yourself…

You’re not weak.

You’re waking up.

And that’s holy work.

I’m not braver than you.

I’m just quieter now.

And in that quiet, I’m learning how to stay.