More and more people struggle with feelings of inadequacy, shame and not knowing who they really are. More people than ever can't find a romantic partner. This has created an entire market for "self-help".

They say that in order to solve your issues with confidence and loneliness, before you can start dating, you need to achieve some sort of Nirvana in an empty room all by yourself, like an enlightened Zen monk. Repeat some pointless mantra in front of the mirror every morning telling yourself how magnificent you are.

The thing is, you can't cultivate happiness in a vacuum. Just like, if you wanna build muscles and a healthy body, you can only do it with the help of external sources of protein and vitamins. Sure your body produces things to keep it going, but you absolutely need to take in the nutrition from external sources. Same thing with sex, you can masturbate and you might even like it, but it's never as good as being intimate and feeling the warmth from another person that you love.

Granted, it's obvious that you need to cultivate a basic sense of self-respect and be able to be your authentic self. You need to at least be able to live with yourself.

But it's an illusion when they say you can be the source of your own happiness, and once you have achieved this Nirvana, you'll automatically be rich and find the partner of your dreams.

We humans are inherently born imperfect and we are social creatures. On a fundamental level, we seek companionship in order to complete each other, to add things to each other that we may lack. But many people these days think this is a sign of desperation and thus people who overtly seek companionship get labeled as 'desperate'.

Happiness and confidence doesn't happen in a vacuum. I'm more confident now than in the past because of the people who I've been together with, the few friends who liked me for who I am, who made me feel that I am good as I am after a childhood with abusive parents and siblings. The assholes I've encountered who awakened my dormant sense of self-respect. I learned gratitude from seeing other people who have it far worse than me. I could never learn any of these things on my own in a vacuum.

I'm nowhere near where I wanna be in my personal growth and I still have a long way to go. I don't even know if I'll ever reach the light at the end of the tunnel. But my progress has only happened when I was out there in the field, in the arena, grinding and daring greatly.

But these youtube grifters just spam endless videos about how to be a Machiavelli. Just sit in an empty room lonely and meditate, and when you go out, you'll be successful. But yeah, self-love is a grift that snakeoil salesmen sell you to make a profit and get your views.

The reality is, happiness comes from external sources. That doesn't mean that other people are responsible for your happiness just like food won't fly by itself into your mouth. But it does mean that you have to go out there in the field. You can't just meditate and love yourself and then step out of the door and have a successful career and relationship.

Use me.

Want me.

Claim me.

Need you.

Choose you.

Two words.

That's it.

The look.

The command.

The understanding.

No questions.

No hesitation.

You know.

I know.

Find me.

Every piece.

Every place.

Nothing untouched.

Love me.

Claim me.

Own me.

I used to think you could.

I used to think that if I just tried a little more, cared a little deeper, showed up a little better, eventually it would click for them. Eventually they’d look at me and realize, “Oh, it was you the whole time.”

But that’s not how it works.

Love isn’t earned through exhaustion. It’s not unlocked because you outworked everyone else. It’s not a prize for effort. And that’s a hard thing to accept when you’re the kind of person who believes effort fixes everything.

Because in most areas of life, it does.

You study harder, you get better grades.

You train harder, you get stronger.

You work harder, you get promoted.

So you assume: if I love harder, they’ll love me back. If I’m patient enough, they’ll choose me. If I’m supportive enough, they’ll see my value. If I prove I’m different, they’ll finally understand.

So you overextend yourself.

You respond instantly.

You always make time.

You remember every small detail.

You show up even when you’re tired.

You give and give and give not because you’re weak, but because you care. And caring feels powerful… until it doesn’t.

The slow realisation hurts.

You start to notice you’re the only one increasing your effort. The only one adjusting. The only one trying to bridge a gap that keeps widening. And instead of asking, “Why aren’t they meeting me halfway?” you ask, “What else can I do?”

That’s where it gets dangerous. Because you start treating love like a performance. Like if you just put on the best show the most understanding, the most loyal, the most patient version of yourself they’ll finally applaud.

But love isn’t an audition.

And you can’t convince someone to feel something they don’t.

No matter how kind you are. No matter how consistent. No matter how much you’re willing to sacrifice.

And that realisation stings. Because when you love someone harder hoping they’ll match you, you slowly start abandoning yourself. You lower your standards. You accept less than you deserve.

You tell yourself: They’re just going through something. They just need time. They’re just not good at expressing emotions.

Maybe that’s true. But here’s the part no one wants to say:

If someone wants you, you won’t have to convince them.

You won’t have to out-love their indifference.

You won’t have to beg for basic effort.

You won’t have to prove your worth every week.

Love that has to be forced isn’t love at all. It’s pursuit. And constant pursuit is exhausting.

There’s nothing lonelier than loving someone who doesn’t love you the same way.

You can talk every day and still feel alone. You can give everything and still feel unwanted. And the worst part is, you start confusing crumbs for effort. A small compliment feels huge. A slightly longer reply feels meaningful. A tiny bit of attention feels like progress.

Because when you’re starving for reciprocity, even breadcrumbs feel like a meal. But they’re not. They’re just reminders that you’re hungry.

And loving someone harder doesn’t make them hungrier for you. It just makes you emptier.

I had to learn that the hard way.

I had to learn that love is mutual, or else it’s unsustainable. You can’t drag someone across the finish line of emotions they never signed up to run. You can’t love someone into choosing you.

And maybe the hardest truth of all is that sometimes they do care just not enough.

“Not enough” is one of the most painful phrases in the world. Because it means you weren’t crazy. You weren’t imagining the connection. You just weren’t matched. And being unmatched hurts more than being ignored.

Because at least with being ignored, it’s clear. When it’s “almost,” when it’s inconsistent, when it’s “sometimes” that’s what keeps you trying. You tell yourself, “If I just hold on a little longer, if I just love a little better, maybe they’ll catch up.”

But love isn’t a race where someone eventually catches up to your pace. It’s supposed to start on the same line.

If you’re constantly overextending, overgiving, overcompensating you’re not building love. You’re building resentment.

One day you’ll look back and realize how much of yourself you shrank to make them comfortable. How much you tolerated. How many times you swallowed your feelings so you wouldn’t seem “needy.”

That’s the quiet damage of loving someone harder than they love you. It teaches you to accept imbalance. And imbalance becomes normal… until you finally step back and ask:

“Why am I trying so hard to be chosen by someone who isn’t trying to choose me?”

That question changes everything.

Love shouldn’t feel like convincing.

It shouldn’t feel like you’re marketing yourself.

It shouldn’t feel like you’re proving your value over and over.

Real love feels like relief. Like someone meeting your energy without you begging for it. Steady. Mutual.

And if someone doesn’t love you the way you love them, it doesn’t mean you’re unlovable. It just means you’re pouring into the wrong place. And pouring more won’t fix that it’ll only drain you faster.

You can’t force someone to love you by loving them harder.

But you can choose to stop overgiving.

You can choose to stop chasing clarity from someone who benefits from keeping things blurry.

You can choose to redirect that love back toward yourself.

Because the effort you were willing to give them you deserve that, too.

Maybe the real lesson isn’t about making them love you.

Maybe it’s about learning to walk away when they don’t.

Not in anger. Not in bitterness. But in self-respect.

Because love that has to be forced will always be fragile.

And you deserve something that doesn’t need to be convinced to exist.

You can’t force someone to love you by loving them harder.

But you can stop forcing yourself to stay where you’re not fully wanted.

And that’s where real strength begins.

I flinch at the word “always” like it’s the edge of something I can’t climb back from. Love feels like walking into a room and realising there are no doors, and forever sounds like the lights going out with no promise they’ll turn on again. I’ve watched it too many times how fast “I’m here for you” turns into “I need some space,” how easy it is to love someone until it starts costing something real. How people say forever until forever gets heavy, and then they set it down like it was never theirs to carry.

So yeah, I’m scared.

Scared I’ll open my chest and someone will treat it like a place to rest, not a place to stay. Scared I’ll say forever and mean it with my whole life, while the other person was just passing through, looking for a warm night. Scared that the more I love, the more I’ll end up holding both ends of the rope, pulling on something that only I believe in.

But here’s the part that surprises me: I’m still willing to see it through. Even with my hands shaking. Even with the voice in my head saying “don’t get too attached.” I want to stay when it gets messy. I want to build slow, to learn the hard parts, to sit in the quiet after an argument and still reach across the bed.I want to believe that love doesn’t have to break just because it bends.

What I don’t understand is why that makes me the odd one. Why wanting to try, really try, feels rare now. Why people run at the first sign of depth, like they’re afraid if they stop moving, they’ll have to feel something real. Why “let’s see where this goes” became code for “I’m not staying,” and why commitment sounds like a trap instead of a choice.

I’m not asking for perfect.

I’m asking for someone who won’t disappear when it rains. Someone who’ll say “this is hard” and still show up the next day. Someone who understands that forever isn’t a finish line ,it’s waking up every morning and deciding again.

So I’ll admit it: I’m scared.

Scared of loving and losing, scared of giving everything and still not being enough. But I’m here. I’m willing. I’m ready to see it through.

I just don’t get why that’s not the same for everyone else.