What If It Isn’t About Me?

This morning, I woke up feeling anxious without understanding why. The feeling was so strong that I had to pause at times and take deep breaths, trying to release as much of it as I could. I had slept well and felt fine, yet the anxiety remained. It shifted into irritability, then eased briefly when I saw someone I had been waiting to see. But as soon as that person left, the feeling returned.

I wondered whether my body was trying to tell me something I was ignoring, whether I was overthinking it, or whether I was simply hungry, tired, hormonal, or some combination of it all. I still don’t know. But I do know the entire day felt intense. I was emotional and unusually sensitive, which naturally led me to think deeply about what might be underneath it.

I think a lot of my distress comes from the back-and-forth I still feel about him. My heart and my mind feel like they are constantly fighting each other.

My heart is happy when I am with him. I feel comfortable, like I am home, and I love simply listening to him talk and being in his presence. I never want him to leave.

But then reality comes in.

My mind reminds me that he is not available. He could be, if he were willing to make the changes in his life that he says he wants to make. But even if he did, that would not necessarily mean he cares about me the way I care about him. It would not mean he wants to be with me in the way I want to be with him.

My mind keeps telling me that if he truly loved me, he would want to spend more time with me, talk with me, and get to know me more.

And then there is the part of me that wants to talk to him, express myself, and have real conversations, but I end up holding so much back.

Before I even see him, I start reminding myself that he does not do well with deep or personal conversations. It’s not that he doesn’t like talking, but those kinds of conversations seem to trigger something in him. So I start thinking about how to say what I need to say without upsetting him, overwhelming him, or making him shut down.

I go over it in my head again and again, trying to find the “right” way to say it—the way I think he would receive it best.

But when I finally get the chance, it either feels like the wrong time, or I stop myself because I’m afraid I’ll come across as too needy, too emotional, or simply too much.

And this is where I start questioning myself.

Why am I still living in denial, mistaking these brief moments of intimacy for feeling wanted and desired, even though I believe the connection we share is deeper than what we are allowing it to be? I feel something between us that is difficult for me to believe is one-sided. I believe he feels it too, even if he doesn't express it in the same way I do. But perhaps that is the hardest part: even if the connection is real, it doesn't change the reality of the situation. Is that all it is, or is the love I feel real?

I know the choices I am making don't align with what I believe is right, and that is part of what makes this so difficult. If I know that, why don't I want to stop? What am I still holding onto? What am I hoping to find in these moments that I haven't yet learned how to give myself?

Why do I keep letting myself forget everything for a moment of pleasure that ends the second he leaves, only to leave me uneasy all over again?

Why don't I stand firm in what I already know?

Even if the love I feel is real, I still have to ask myself whether this is the kind of care I want to accept.

Is this really enough for me?

Because if it were, I don’t think I would feel this uneasy. I would feel like I could talk to him about anything and everything. I would feel wanted whether I was with him or not.

But none of that feels true when I look honestly at what this situation is actually showing me.

I think deeply and process everything internally, looking at situations from every angle so I can understand not only myself, but what the other person may be feeling or experiencing too.

Writing has always felt like one of my greatest gifts because it helps me release the constant mental chatter and step outside the never-ending loop in my mind.

But even when I write it out, and even when I speak it, something about him keeps pulling me back.

And that is frustrating, even to me.

A few months ago, my therapist, whom I have seen on and off for years, pointed out that this is interesting because I don’t usually put up with so much from other people.

I have come so far in my personal growth. I have a deep perspective within myself and a broad, intuitive understanding of human behavior. When I am with someone, I sense them deeply.

With everyone else, I can now keep boundaries, say no without questioning myself, and do what I know feels right.

But with him, there is still a gap in all of that.

And maybe that gap is what I am really trying to understand.

I met a dear friend for breakfast the day before last, and we had the best time. Our conversation left me feeling so grateful to have someone who truly sees me, knows me, and cares enough to ask the questions I need to hear.

She also offered a perspective I could not see clearly for myself in the moment.

She knows the situation with this man I keep referring to, and she has known about it from the beginning. She has also known me personally for well over ten years, so she really knows it all.

I told her, “Okay, hear me out. Let me paint the picture of what I feel in my heart and explain why I keep this connection going with him. I want to hear what you think.”

I told her that I love him and want to be with him, and that part of me is still holding onto the hope that he will find himself, figure out what he truly wants for his life, and eventually be able to meet me in the way I believe I want to be met.

Right away, I could tell from her face what she was thinking and feeling, and I laughed out loud at her expressions.

Then she asked me:
“Do you think you're holding onto the possibility of him finding his way, or are you holding onto how you feel when you believe you are finally being wanted by him?”

We talked about the roots of my own self-abandonment and the ways I once struggled to recognize my worth. I understand those patterns more clearly now, and I am learning to honor what I know my worth is more than ever.

And that question stayed with me.

Because maybe that is the question underneath all of the other questions.

Maybe I’m not only trying to understand what I feel for him.

Maybe I’m trying to understand what I am actually asking another person to give me—and why I still believe I need someone else to give it to me.

I have days like this often, when I feel uneasy and can’t explain why. But I’ve started to see that there can be a gift in not knowing.

I am in tune enough with my body and myself to recognize when something feels off or when I don’t quite feel like myself. Instead of immediately pushing the feeling away, I try to sit with it, even when that means spending time crying it out, which is usually one of my greatest outlets.

Sometimes the discomfort makes me think differently.

Sometimes it asks me to look at something I haven’t been willing or ready to see.

And maybe that is where the gift of not knowing comes from.

This evening I listened to an episode of On Purpose with Jay Shetty and Eileen Gu. I already find Eileen fascinating—not only because of everything she has accomplished at such a young age, but because of the way she seems to think about herself, her life, and her own growth.

She talked about how deeply introspective she is and how often she self-assesses. At one point, she said:

“I train like I’ve never won and I compete like I’ve never lost.”

She explained that winning is difficult, but staying there can be even harder because it is easy to become complacent and allow the ego to take over.

When she is training, she looks closely at her mistakes and what needs improvement. But when it is time to compete, she shifts completely into confidence.

Listening to her made me think about the way I look at myself.

I am constantly learning, analyzing, questioning, and trying to understand who I am. But maybe there is also a place where the critical part of me has to make that same shift.

Maybe self-reflection isn’t supposed to become self-punishment.

Maybe I can look honestly at what still needs healing without allowing those things to become evidence that something is wrong with me.

Another thing she said stayed with me: that she sees herself as her own greatest project.

That resonated deeply because I feel the same way. There is no relationship I will ever have longer than the one I have with myself. No life I will ever be responsible for living more intimately than my own.

She also spoke about constructive criticism and the ability to receive something useful without allowing an emotional reaction or bruised ego to keep you from seeing what is being offered.

That immediately brought me back to breakfast with my friend.

What she gave me that morning wasn’t judgment.

It was perspective.

She knows me well enough to see something I couldn’t quite see for myself, and she loved me enough to say it.

I didn’t leave feeling criticized or misunderstood. I left feeling grateful.

Maybe one of the greatest gifts we can give one another is the willingness to gently hold up a mirror when someone we love can no longer see themselves clearly.

And then today, something else hit me.

What if it isn’t about me at all?

What if the question all along hasn’t been whether he loves and cares about me the way I love and care about him?
What if it isn’t about understanding everything he feels or why he struggles to express it?
What if it is about whether he will find himself and discover what he truly feels beneath the conflict within him?
And what if I don’t actually have to keep questioning whether my feelings are real?
Because they are real to me.

What might also be true is that I keep going back because I want to feel wanted. I want to feel that what I experience between us matters to him too. And when we are intimate, for a moment, I feel that.

Maybe that is part of why letting go has been so difficult.

I have spent so much time trying to understand what this connection means, what he feels, and whether there is something deeper beneath the things he has been able to express. But perhaps I don't need to answer all of those questions.

Sometimes we become so caught inside our own thoughts that we keep circling the same questions, looking for an answer that will finally give us peace. We can become so focused on what we think, what we fear, and what we hope might happen that we lose sight of the bigger picture. And sometimes finding our way forward begins with stepping outside of the loop long enough to see what is actually in front of us.

I can believe that what I felt was real without needing him to define it for me.

I can believe that something meaningful existed between us and still recognize that it has not given me the kind of relationship I want.

That distinction is difficult for me because I never wanted to settle for something simply because it gave me moments of happiness. I want a love where two people can meet each other fully. I want to be chosen with the same intention and depth with which I choose someone else.

And I know now that wanting that does not make me demanding. It does not mean I am asking for too much.

It means I know myself better.

I know how deeply I can love. I know how much space I can make for another person. I know how willing I am to see someone in their complexity, to have compassion for their struggles, and to give them room to grow.

I also know that love cannot be sustained by one person continually reaching toward the other.

I am pouring all of my love and energy into a cup filled with holes.

And my first instinct when I recognize something like this is to turn it against myself.

I criticize myself for still being here. I tell myself I should know better. I wonder how I can understand so much and still find myself returning to something I know is not enough for me.

But I am beginning to see that growth doesn't mean I never return to an old pattern.

Sometimes it means I return to it and see it differently.

I can recognize what I am seeking without judging myself for having needed it. I can acknowledge that being wanted feels good, that intimacy can make me feel connected, and that I can genuinely love someone while still recognizing that the relationship itself is not where I want to stay.

That is not failure.

It is awareness.

And maybe surrender is not about reaching a place where I never question anything again. Maybe it is learning that I don't have to solve every question before I can choose what is right for me.

I can leave some things unanswered.

I can let him have his own journey without making it mine to understand or complete.

I can love what was real without holding onto what I wish it could become.

And I can keep moving toward the life that is waiting for me.

Sometimes I surrender and feel completely at peace. Sometimes I reach back for what I thought I had released. Sometimes I have to remind myself why I chose to let go in the first place.

But I am still moving.

I am still learning.

And maybe that is what coming home to myself really means:

Not never losing my way, but learning that I can always find my way back.