It starts subtly.
A late afternoon. Golden light spilling through your window. You’re sitting in your room, phone in hand — waiting for a text that doesn’t come. You replay the last conversation in your mind, looking for cracks in your words. Maybe you were too soft. Too strong. Too much. Not enough. The silence, like static, begins to hum in your chest.
You tell yourself you’re not waiting. But you are. And you’ve been doing it longer than you care to admit.
Waiting to be picked. To be seen. To be named worthy.
You see, many of us were conditioned — not directly, but deeply — to feel that love was something to earn, not something that meets us where we are. We were raised to be desirable, not deeply known. We were taught to perform. To package ourselves. To stay available. To be nice. To be soft. To be easy to handle.
And in that quiet, dangerous space… we learn to wait.
But here’s the truth: waiting to be chosen is spiritual poverty.
Because you start building altars in your soul for people who don’t even bring matches.
When you are not performing.
You become dangerous in the most beautiful way — not because you’re hard, but because you’re whole.
You become the woman who no longer measures her value by who texts back.
You become the one who doesn’t confuse attention with intention.
You stop asking, “Why didn’t he choose me?” and start declaring, “I choose me.”
Because love that sees you, holds you, and honors you?
It will not need to be chased.
It will not live in maybe.
It will not starve you.
So don’t waste your power in waiting rooms.
You are not a backup plan.
You are not a second thought.
You are not someone’s lesson.
You are your own answered prayer.
Your own becoming.
And the moment you stop waiting to be chosen… you realize:
You’ve been the prize all along.
You start writing poetry with your presence while they barely string sentences with their effort.
You shrink your fire into flickers — just in case they find your full flame “too much.”
Let’s talk about the men.
Not all, but many.
The ones who want access without accountability.
Who want your softness but aren’t strong enough to protect it.
Who show up in fragments and expect you to assemble them.
Who crave the fruit of connection but refuse to dig roots of depth.
They may be charming — good morning texts, deep talks, the illusion of closeness. But when it’s time to show up with clarity, commitment, emotional maturity?
They retreat.
They ghost.
They blame your standards.
They call your boundaries “walls.”
They call your clarity “pressure.”
What you need to know is this:
It is not your job to audition for love.
It is not your purpose to prove your worth to someone who hasn’t even proven their presence.
You were not born to be background in someone else’s becoming.
There’s a sacred shift that happens when you stop waiting and start choosing yourself.
When you realize that being alone is not a punishment — it’s a pause. A powerful one.
A time to remember who you are when you are not bending.
When you are not adjusting.
