The Weight of Wanting Love

I think I’m finally tired.

Tired of seeking, searching, bending myself into shapes I was never meant to take, just to fit into someone else’s life. Tired of pouring out love, time, energy, money, hell even my sanity only to receive crumbs in return. Tired of chasing something that has never truly belonged to me.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted love. Not just any love, but the kind that wraps around you, the kind that makes you feel seen, the kind that reminds you why people write songs, why they get on one knee, why they wait in the rain for hours just to say, I still choose you. But in every relationship, every situationship that almost became something real, I have always found myself on the giving end. Always the one making time, checking in, loving without hesitation. And yet, when it’s my turn to be held, to be prioritized, to be loved back with the same intensity I am met with silence. Indifference. Excuses.

I’ve started recognizing the imbalances. The way I have given and given and given, hoping that this time, it would be different. That this time, I wouldn’t have to question whether I was worthy of love, whether I deserved the same care I so freely gave. But when you spend enough time healing, you start replaying the moments that should have been red flags but were instead brushed aside in the name of patience, or hope, or fear. The nights spent waiting for a text that never came. The apologies that never arrived. The way I convinced myself that love was something I had to earn, rather than something I was simply worthy of.

I have settled for the bare minimum so many times, it’s embarrassing. Who wants to be with a partner who won’t even text them? Who doesn’t say I love you? Who doesn’t check in, make time, or even acknowledge how much of yourself you’ve sacrificed just to keep the connection alive? I look back now, and I wonder why I stayed. Was it loneliness? The desire to feel chosen? Or was it something deeper, a need to prove to myself that I was capable of love beyond just friendship, that I could be wanted in that way?

It’s funny, isn’t it? I told myself this would be my year to finally have something real. But after all these exes, all these almosts, all these unreciprocated efforts, I have to ask: have I ever been loved the way I deserve?

And if not, what does that say about me?

Maybe the truth is, I don’t even know what love looks like. I grew up in a house where my parents were married but barely spoke, where I never saw them hug or kiss, where love looked more like obligation than devotion. I have never seen a healthy relationship up close. How am I supposed to know what to expect from love when I’ve never witnessed it? How do you crave something you’ve never seen?

I think that’s what scares me the most. That maybe I have been chasing something that doesn’t exist. That maybe love, the way I have imagined it, is just a story I made up to fill the gaps.

But I do know this: I can’t keep losing myself in love. I can’t keep seeking it in people who don’t have the capacity to give it back. I can’t keep breaking my own heart by believing that if I just love a little harder, they’ll finally see me.

I am tired.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to chase anymore.

Maybe that’s the first step toward something real.

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Thank you for reading, much love -Shay