Stop Shrinking to be Chosen
I read a line on a post the other day that really sat with me.
“Waiting for someone to act correctly is a disrespect to yourself. You’re compromising your worth just because someone can’t fully afford it.”
I must have read it ten times over, feeling attacked in the worst way. It sat heavy in my chest like a truth I absolutely did not want to name. Because I’ve done that. Waited. Waited for someone to finally treat me the way I’ve always shown up for them. Waited for consistency. For clarity. For effort. For someone to recognize the value of what I bring without me having to shrink, simplify, or beg to be seen.
And I called it love. Grace. Patience. Unconditional love.
But looking back, it wasn’t any of those things. It was fear. Self-abandonment.
Fear that if I stopped trying, it would confirm what I already knew… that they were never really trying at all. Fear that if I left, it would mean I wasted my time, my hope, my heart. That all those years of trying to make it work meant nothing. That settling was just what I was supposed to do, especially as a single mom. Because men will absolutely convince you that no one else will love you and your kids the way that they do—even when “the way they do” is half-assed at best. And honestly, part of me stayed in a place I had no business being… because I had help. Not emotional help, not partnership—but help with the kids. And that started to feel more important than my happiness. Like peace was optional as long as I had support. Even if that “support” was built on my own exhaustion.
So I stayed. And I lowered the bar, just a little at a time. I would say things like “they’re trying,” or “they’ve been through a lot,” or “this is better than the last.” But the truth is, when you think you love someone, you start collecting evidence for their potential and calling it proof of progress.
You start doing the emotional math, trying to make the imbalance look even. You start making peace with crumbs because at least it’s something. “At least it’s better than the last thing.” Or “It could be worse”.
And before you know it, you’re knee-deep in self-abandonment and trying to convince yourself it’s loyalty. You tell yourself it’s just a rough season, that things will get better once life slows down, once stress isn’t so heavy. You start normalizing the imbalance. You start making peace with being the only one trying. Settling for effort that never matches yours. Never asking for what you need because you’re tired of the arguments that follow. You stop bringing things up because you already know how the conversation will end. You stop expecting to be cared for the way you care for everyone else, and somehow that starts to feel normal.
But it’s not normal. It’s survival. And little by little, pieces of you start to go missing, and you don’t even notice until you can’t find yourself anymore.
That’s the thing about shrinking. You don’t always realize it’s happening. It starts small. A silenced opinion here. A withheld boundary there. A moment where you tell yourself, “it’s not worth arguing about.” But over time, it becomes habit. It becomes a pattern.
You’re shrinking yourself to fit inside someone else’s limited capacity.
And eventually, you start to forget what it feels like to take up space.
I used to think choosing myself meant quitting too soon. But the older I get, the more I see that staying where you’re constantly drained is its own kind of quitting. You quit on your peace. You quit on your joy. You quit on the version of you that believed she deserved more. And for what? To prove you can hold on longer than you should have had to? To prove you’re loyal?
What if choosing yourself is the loyalty test?
What if staying is the betrayal?
You don’t have to set yourself on fire just to keep someone else warm. You don’t have to starve yourself emotionally to keep someone else full.
If someone can’t meet you where you are, that’s not a reflection of your worth. It’s a reflection of their capacity. You are not “too much.” They are simply under-equipped. See it. Acknowledge it. Move on. Because you can be absolutely everything someone prayed for and still be mishandled. You can be soft and steady and still not be chosen. And that’s okay!
Some people don’t want love. They want control.
Some people don’t want partnership. They want access.
And when you start to understand that, you stop confusing attention for affection. You stop mistaking attachment for love. You realize that staying in rooms where you’re unseen doesn’t make you loyal. It makes you lost.
I had to start asking myself the hard questions.
- Why am I accepting less than I give?
- Why do I keep waiting for someone to change instead of believing them when they don’t?
- What part of me feels safest being undervalued?
That last one hurt something serious. Because the truth is, sometimes we stay in half-love because full love would require us to heal the parts of us that accepted crumbs as normal. (sheesh) We call it “unconditional” love because we’ve never actually experienced love with conditions that protect us.
Healing has taught me that awareness isn’t enough. You can’t just know better—you have to choose better. Daily. Especially on the days you still crave the comfort of what broke you.
You have to understand that your worth? Is not up for negotiation. And you have to move like that is fact. Stop confusing someone elses emotional immaturity with a personal rejection. You can be everything they prayed for, and still not be what they’re ready for. You can be love in full, and still be met with half-effort. And that, my love, is not a reason to wait. It’s a reason to walk.
If I were younger me, again, I would tell her to stop holding her breath for potential. You are not a rehab center for people who might love you better one day. You are not a lesson someone needs to lose in order to grow. Because every time you stay in a situation that requires you to compromise your standards, you teach yourself that your worth is negotiable. And I just told you, it isn’t.
So these days, I pay attention to what drains me. I pull back my energy without explaining. I don’t chase clarity from people who benefit from keeping me confused. I don’t call it love when it’s really just comfort. I listen to what my peace has to say, and if it tells me to go, I go.
Because love that costs you yourself isn’t a love worth keeping.
I’ve learned that peace doesn’t announce itself—it just becomes louder once you stop silencing it. It starts with small things. Saying no without guilt. Letting calls go unanswered when you don’t have the energy to perform. Not rushing to fix what someone else keeps breaking. If it leaves you constantly second-guessing your value, it’s not love—it’s maintenance. And I refuse to spend another season maintaining people who only know how to take.
These days, I choose alignment over attachment. I choose clarity over closure. I choose honesty over habit. I remind myself that letting go isn’t punishment—it’s protection. And that? Was Is so hard to sit with. Especially when you have to let go when you’re not ready to. But growth never happens when you’re ready, does it?
Because sometimes peace looks like distance. Sometimes healing looks like silence. Sometimes love looks like walking away.
And when I catch myself missing the version of me that used to stay longer than she should have, I don’t shame her. She didn’t know better. She just wanted to be loved. And she thought proving it meant staying.
But I know better now.
And knowing better means moving differently.
So, if you take anything from me, take this:
Stop explaining your boundaries to people who never intended to respect them.
Pay attention to energy, not promises.
Never chase clarity where confusion is the point.
And give your love only where it’s reciprocated.
Because love should expand you, not erase you.
If you find yourself waiting for someone to become who they’ve never shown you they can be, ask yourself if you’re holding on to hope… or avoiding grief. Because grief will break you open, but it’ll also set you free.
The right people won’t need you to be smaller to feel safe around you. They’ll rise to meet your capacity. They’ll protect it.
You don’t need to be more patient or more forgiving. You need to be honest with yourself. You need to stop romanticizing struggle and start believing in reciprocity.
The lesson here isn’t about being harder or colder. It’s about being rooted. It’s about remembering that peace isn’t passive. It’s a boundary.
You are not here to be tolerated. You are here to be honored.
So stop shrinking to be chosen. Stop waiting to be seen by people who refuse to look. Stop trying to be affordable for hearts that cannot afford you.
You are the gift. You are the standard. You are the peace.
Move like it.
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You just have to keep choosing yourself on purpose.
And every time you do, peace takes root a little deeper.
Be good, always. 🤎
Affirmation of the Day
Demi Wilde
I am not here to be tolerated. I am here to be honored. I release anything that requires me to shrink.
Before you go, remember: this isn’t just about romantic love.
It’s about every space you exist in — friendships, family, work, all of it.
Anyone who consistently violates your peace, disrespects your boundaries, or mishandles your heart has to be addressed accordingly. You’re not shrinking for anyone — not your mama, not your childhood bestie, not the man you thought was “the one.”
Protect your peace across the board.
Reclaim it from every corner it’s being drained.
Set the boundary. Hold the line. Don’t flinch.
