The Cost of Wanting to Be Chosen

When you disappear long enough,
you start believing that love will bring you back.

And that’s exactly what I thought.

After years of hiding,
shrinking,
covering,
and silently wondering if anyone could ever love me as I was…

I just wanted to be chosen.

Even before I truly understood love,
I was already searching for it through intimacy.
I became sexually active at sixteen,
hoping that closeness might fill the emptiness inside me.
Hoping that being wanted physically
might translate into feeling loved emotionally.
But it never really did.

After years of feeling different —
the skin, the learning struggles, the silence —
I thought love would finally make it all feel normal.

Before I met him, intimacy was already complicated.
I had slept with men before — but always with my top on.
If I could’ve figured out a way to have sex fully clothed, I probably would have.
It was the only way I felt safe.
That was where most of my bumps were,
and keeping part of myself covered let me pretend I was still “normal.”

When I finally met him,
he became the first man I allowed to fully see me — skin and all.
And in every way, I felt exposed.
Naked — not just physically, but emotionally.

It felt like relief at first.
"Maybe I really am lovable.
Maybe I can stop hiding now."

But relief isn’t healing.

Even though he accepted my skin,
I still couldn’t fully believe I was safe being fully seen.

Intimacy was complicated.
I struggled to let anyone see me naked —
not because I didn’t love him,
but because I still didn’t love me.

Underneath every moment of closeness was a quiet hum of shame:
"If he really sees all of me, will he still stay?"

I thought love would finally quiet the shame I carried.
That if someone chose me, maybe I could finally stop feeling broken.

And that’s where the cost came in.

I traded pieces of myself for the illusion of safety.
I said yes when I wanted to say no.
I went quiet when I wanted to speak up.
I made myself small to keep the peace.
I learned how to stay agreeable, easy, acceptable —
because being chosen felt safer than being alone.

I have photos from those years — standing at the bathroom mirror,
putting on makeup,
getting ready to be enough.

But I wasn’t truly chosen.
I was performing to stay chosen.

And over time,
I disappeared all over again.

Not because anyone asked me to —
but because I believed I had to.

That’s the cost of wanting to be chosen:
you keep handing yourself away piece by piece,
hoping love will save you from your own silence.

But love that requires you to disappear isn’t love.
It’s survival.

And survival isn’t where I want to live anymore.

It’s taken me years to understand this.
But I’m not disappearing anymore.
I’m learning to stay.
With myself.
With my truth.

If any part of this feels familiar to you —
if you’ve ever twisted yourself into someone smaller
just to feel wanted —
just to feel safe…

You’re not alone.
And you don’t have to keep disappearing to stay loved.

With heart,
Rebecca