It was Valentine’s Day. The day of love, of grand gestures, of feeling wanted. And maybe that’s what I craved the most—feeling wanted. I started it. I initiated the conversation, suggested we hang out. Maybe I rushed it. Maybe my timing was off. He had just finished a grueling six-day overnight shift. He was exhausted. I was impatient.
I told him how I felt, or at least how I thought I felt in the moment. I said I was someone great, that I had a lot to offer. That I wanted to be cared for, held. That I felt like he wasn’t excited enough about spending time with me. The words left my mouth—or, more accurately, my fingertips. And just like that, he was gone.
Ghosted.
Mind you, we had never even met in person. Three weeks of conversations, messages, laughter, support. He seemed genuine. He seemed to care. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being cared for, or at least feeling like I was. He was funny, kind, and had his life together. But I pushed. And he disappeared into the abyss, vanishing like he had never existed.
The worst part? I chased him. I reached out again and again, trying to fix what I had broken, trying to undo what I had said. I won’t anymore, don’t worry.
But why? Why did I feel the need to rush things? Why did I insist on making Valentine’s Day—of all days—the day we met in person? Why did I ignore the obvious signs that he was exhausted, that he needed space?
My friends tell me he just wasn’t that interested—after all, if he truly cared, he would have made time to hang out within a reasonable timeframe, not let weeks pass without making plans. And maybe they’re right. But I think there’s more to it than that. I think I am to blame.
Because the pain I felt from being ghosted wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t about the three weeks of talking or the potential of something more. It was about something deeper. Something within me.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way—unwanted, too much, not enough, all at once. The overwhelming feeling of being abandoned, cast aside, erased—it hit me harder than it should have. And that’s the real problem. This isn’t about him. It’s about me.
This was my wake-up call. The reason I started this blog.
I have issues. Deep-rooted, uncomfortable, messy issues. And this situation, this fleeting connection that disappeared into nothingness, forced me to confront them.
Why do I seek validation in others instead of finding it within myself?
Why do I fear stillness, solitude, my own company?
Why do I equate attention with worth?
The truth is, I wanted him to fill a void that isn’t his to fill. And that’s not fair—to him, to me, to anyone. I have been looking outward for something that only exists inward.
I can’t expect someone else to complete me if I am not whole on my own.
This is why I’m here. This is why I’m doing the work. Because if I don’t, I will keep repeating the same patterns. Seeking love in the wrong places. Searching for validation in the eyes of others instead of finding it within myself.
I don’t want to chase people anymore. I don’t want to feel abandoned when someone walks away. I don’t want to be devastated by the absence of something that was never really mine to begin with.
I want to be okay—truly okay—on my own.
This is where the work begins.
Here’s to better.
Best,
Kate
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