When wanting someone becomes losing yourself
For a long time, I thought the problem was that I wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough for the people whose love I wanted most. I wasn’t enough for the men I loved. And when relationships didn’t work out, I found myself asking the same questions over and over again.
What am I doing wrong? Why isn’t my love enough? Why do I keep ending up here?
I tried harder. I gave more. I explained myself. I hoped that if I could love someone well enough, understand them deeply enough, or become the version of myself they needed, eventually I would feel safe. Eventually, I would feel chosen.
But something I’ve been learning through recovery is that when you’re emotionally attached to someone, you can lose sight of yourself trying to hold on to them.
You can become so focused on whether they want you that you forget to ask yourself whether the relationship is actually good for you.
There’s a difference between loving someone and feeling like you need them.
When you’re caught in an emotionally addictive cycle, the longing can feel enormous. You miss the person. You crave the connection. You remember the beautiful moments and the future you imagined together. You remember the promises, the grand gestures, the conversations about trying again. And you hold on to hope.
But eventually, you have to look at what’s actually happening. Is this person showing up? Are they making an effort? Are their actions consistent with their words?
Someone can tell you they want to try again, and you can want that just as much, but if they aren’t showing up, you’re left holding the hope by yourself.
I can want someone without chasing them. I can love someone without abandoning myself.
I don’t have to turn my feelings into action every time I miss someone. I don’t have to call just because I’m hurting. I don’t have to solve the uncertainty by reaching for the person I’m afraid of losing.
Sometimes, I can simply let myself feel the grief. I can miss him. I can wish he were here. I can acknowledge how much I wanted our relationship to work. And I can still choose myself.
I wasn’t wrong for loving deeply
For a while, I wondered whether I even knew how to be in a healthy relationship anymore.
When you’ve experienced unhealthy relationships, it’s easy to start questioning everything about yourself. You wonder whether you’re ready, whether you’re attracting the wrong people, whether there’s something about you that makes these relationships happen. You begin to distrust your own judgment.
But a relationship with someone unhealthy not working out doesn’t mean I’m not right for someone else. Loving someone who couldn’t give me what I needed doesn’t mean my capacity to love is the problem.
I’m a nurturer. I’m loving. I’m someone who wants to understand people deeply and create meaningful connections.
I don’t need to erase those parts of myself to become healthier. I need to learn how to protect them. I don’t need to become less loving. I need to become more discerning about where my love goes.
Open, but not unguarded
When I meet someone, I can become excited about the possibilities. I can imagine the connection, the future, the meaning of it all. I want to know them. I want to share myself. I want to experience love.
There’s nothing wrong with that. But when you’re longing for connection, openness can sometimes become overexposure.
You share too much too soon. You give someone access to your inner world before they’ve shown they can hold it with care. You invest emotionally before there’s enough evidence of mutual commitment. And then, when they don’t respond the way you hoped, you’re left feeling hurt, exposed and depleted.
Being open to love doesn’t mean everyone gets immediate access to me.
I can be friendly without becoming emotionally invested. I can be interested without imagining an entire future. I can be vulnerable without disclosing everything. I can enjoy someone without making them the centre of my emotional world.
For me, that means slowing down. Dating at a pace that lets me stay connected to myself. Noticing whether someone’s actions match their words. Giving trust time to develop instead of treating chemistry as proof of safety.
It means remembering that I’m choosing them, too. They aren’t the only person deciding whether I’m enough. I’m also deciding whether this is right for me.
Receiving is part of love, too
I don’t want every connection to be something I have to work for. I don’t want to constantly prove that I’m lovable, valuable, intelligent, beautiful or worthy of someone’s attention. I want to experience what it feels like to receive.
To let someone plan the date. To let someone show interest. To appreciate a thoughtful gesture without feeling I need to repay it immediately. To allow someone to care about me without turning that care into another responsibility.
That doesn’t mean relationships should be one-sided. I believe in mutual effort, mutual generosity and mutual care. But I don’t want to confuse love with overfunctioning, carrying the emotional weight of the whole relationship and wondering why I’m exhausted.
I want partnership. Peace and aliveness. Resonance and safety. A relationship where I can express myself fully without managing another person’s reactions to remain loved. And I want to remember that I don’t have to earn the right to be myself.
The same lesson applies to my business
When you care deeply about your work, you want people to understand you. You want to help. And sometimes that desire can make you feel you have to give everything away: every thought, every feeling, every personal experience.
But authenticity doesn’t require unlimited access.
I can share my story without sharing every detail of my life. I can talk about what I’ve learned without turning every painful experience into content. My vulnerability is mine to share intentionally. It isn’t something the world is automatically entitled to receive.
You don’t have to bleed publicly to prove that your work is meaningful. You can be authentic and still have privacy. You can be generous and still have boundaries. You can serve people without making yourself endlessly available to them.
I am learning to trust myself again
Perhaps the biggest change isn’t about dating or business. It’s about the relationship I’m building with myself.
For years, I thought I needed someone else’s response to tell me whether I was doing things right. If someone pulled away, I questioned myself. If someone didn’t choose me, I wondered what I lacked.
But another person’s inability or unwillingness to build a healthy relationship with me is not a final verdict on my worth.
I can learn from the relationships I’ve had without defining my future by them. I can recognize an old pattern without assuming I’m destined to repeat it. Trusting myself doesn’t mean I’ll always make the right decision. It means I trust myself to pay attention, to learn, to set boundaries, and to respond when something isn’t right.
My next chapter is about choosing
I still want love. I still want a husband, and the kind of partnership where there’s emotional safety, creativity, mutual support and room for both people to become more fully themselves.
I don’t know exactly when I’ll meet the person I’m meant to build a life with. And I don’t need to manufacture certainty about that today.
What I can do is create a life that feels like mine. I can nurture my relationship with God. I can care for my body. I can build my work. I can make room for solitude, creativity, friendship and joy. I can stay open to meeting someone without organizing my entire life around the possibility of him.
Because I’m not waiting to be chosen anymore. I’m learning to choose.
To choose what feels peaceful. To choose what is mutual. To choose relationships where love doesn’t ask me to abandon myself. And to choose a life where my worth isn’t decided by who stays, who leaves, or who decides I’m the one.
I’m still learning. Some days I still miss people I know I need to release. But I don’t have to treat every feeling as an instruction. I can feel the longing and still honour my boundaries.
Not becoming a different woman. Not becoming less sensitive, less nurturing or less open. But becoming a woman who can love deeply without losing herself.
Open, but discerning. Loving, but grounded. Soft, but self-trusting.
I don’t have to prove that I’m enough anymore. I’m learning to live as though I already am.
If this met you where you are, I write weekly soul-and-body healing lessons on Substack.
— Tracey Nguyen, RN, MN · True Health Is You
Education and personal reflection, not medical advice.
