Elevated & Grounded

I need to be real with myself—uncomfortably real.

Why do I only like men and women who don’t give two shits about me? The emotionally unavailable ones. The distant ones. The ones who keep me guessing, waiting, hoping. The ones I already know, deep down, will never choose me fully.

And why do I keep repeating this pattern like it’s familiar territory, even when it hurts every single time?

I’ve been single for eight years. Eight. Years. I’m almost 50, and some days it feels like half my life has been spent chasing what’s not good for me, investing energy into people who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—meet me where I am. That realization stings. Not because I’m ashamed of being single, but because I’m tired of wasting emotional real estate on assholes who were never meant to stay.

So I have to ask myself the hard questions.

Do I want the unavailable because it keeps me safe? If they can’t truly choose me, then I never have to risk fully being chosen—or rejected. Is it easier to long for someone I can’t have than to open myself up to someone who actually might show up?

Maybe chaos feels familiar. Maybe I confuse intensity with connection. Maybe I learned somewhere along the way that love is something you earn, chase, or prove yourself worthy of—rather than something freely given.

And if I’m being really honest, I’m craving more than just a shift in relationships—I want a clean slate. I don’t want anyone from my Facebook friends list tagging along into this next chapter of my life. I need space from old versions of myself, old narratives, and people who only know me through who I used to be. I want to start completely fresh somewhere new, where I can show up as who I am now—unfiltered, healed, and intentional.

The truth is, wanting what I can’t have has never made me happy. It’s kept me stuck. It’s kept me small. It’s kept me replaying the same story with different characters, hoping the ending would magically change.

But here’s the part I’m choosing to believe now: awareness is the beginning of change.

I don’t want potential anymore. I don’t want breadcrumbs, mixed signals, or emotional hide-and-seek. I don’t want to feel anxious, unsure, or disposable. I want calm. I want consistency. I want someone who actually gives a shit.

Being honest with myself means admitting that I’ve accepted less than I deserve—not because that’s all that’s available, but because that’s all I allowed. And while I can’t get those years back, I can decide that the rest of my life won’t look like this.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about responsibility. About choosing better, even when better feels unfamiliar. Especially then.

I’m done romanticizing what hurts me. I’m done chasing people who can’t meet me with the same effort, respect, and emotional availability I bring to the table.

I’m ready to want what wants me back.

And that starts with being honest—with myself.