Sometimes healing looks like finally admitting that you became emotionally attached to the version of someone you met in the beginning, not who they consistently showed themselves to be over time.  You kept holding onto the version of them you met in the beginning. The version that felt vulnerable, emotionally open, tender, honest and safe. The version that made you believe maybe this could become something real.

That’s the version I held onto for far too long.

For a long time, I thought I was waiting for clarity. But the truth is, I already had the clarity. I just didn’t want to accept it because hope was louder than my intuition.

I knew deep down this situation wasn’t good for me. I knew it early on. That’s why I deleted him the first time. And the second time. And the third time. It was never about drama. It was never about trying to hurt him. It was always me trying to protect myself from something I could already feel emotionally pulling me under.

But every time he came back, so did my hope.

And hope can be dangerous when it’s attached to potential instead of reality.

I kept waiting for the vulnerable version of him to return. The version that opened up to me in the beginning. The version that made me feel seen. The version that made me believe there was something deeper underneath all the inconsistency.

But the truth is, that version only existed briefly.

The rest of the time, I was surviving off memories, breadcrumbs, fantasy and emotional possibility.

And that’s a hard thing to admit out loud.

What I’ve learned through all of this is that you cannot keep waiting for someone to become the version of them you once briefly experienced. You cannot carry enough hope for two people. You cannot build a healthy relationship off emotional fragments and moments of vulnerability alone.

Emotional connection should not feel like:
waiting,
wondering,
checking Facebook,
hoping they’ll finally choose you,
or trying to convince yourself that inconsistency means hidden feelings.

A healthy connection should not leave your nervous system in survival mode.

I think one of the hardest things for me to face was realizing that I wanted to be chosen. Not just by him, but maybe by everyone I’ve ever loved deeply. And somewhere along the way, I started believing that if I cared hard enough, understood enough, nurtured enough or stayed long enough, maybe eventually someone would finally choose me fully.

But I’m learning something now.

I don’t want to spend my life emotionally waiting anymore.

I don’t want to keep abandoning my own intuition because I’m attached to someone’s potential. I don’t want to keep revisiting fantasyland every time someone gives me a small piece of attention or vulnerability. I don’t want to lose myself inside emotionally unavailable people while trying to save them or bring back the version of them I once saw.

And honestly, maybe this experience happened exactly the way it needed to.

Not because it didn’t hurt.
Not because I wanted this pain.
But because it forced me to finally see patterns in myself I wasn’t fully ready to acknowledge before.

It showed me:
how deeply I attach,
how much I romanticize potential,
how much I long for companionship
and how often I override my own intuition when hope gets involved.

But it also showed me something beautiful.

It showed me the life I actually want.

The porch swing.
The quiet.
The slower pace.
The peace.
The chickens in the yard.
The country roads.
The sunsets.
The version of myself that feels grounded, authentic and finally at home within herself.

And maybe that dream never belonged to him in the first place.

Maybe he just reminded me that it still existed inside me.

So this is my goodbye.
Not written from anger.
Not written from hate.
Not even written from regret.

Just written from truth.

You mattered to me.
The experience mattered to me.
The lessons mattered to me.

But I’m finally choosing reality over fantasy.
Peace over emotional chaos.
And myself over emotional waiting.

And honestly?
That feels like the beginning of coming home to myself again.

— Jenny 🤍