Wanting Without Losing Myself

Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 16

I used to think desire meant surrender.
That if you felt the heat, you had to follow it.
That wanting someone meant saying yes with your body,
even when your heart hadn’t caught up.

I’ve learned better.

These days, I’m no longer rushing toward the spark without checking where it leads.
I’m letting the fire burn slower, longer,
so I can see who stays when the glow settles.
Because I’ve had enough of intimacy that only mimics closeness.
Enough of being touched before being seen.

I want connection that doesn’t just consume me,
but chooses me.
Carefully. Consciously.
Tenderly.

And yes,
I still want the kiss at the door,
the magnetic pull, the ache of anticipation.
I want to be wanted.
To be devoured.
To be adored.

But not at the cost of my clarity.
Not if I’m the only one anchoring the moment with intentionality.

I’ve earned truth the hard way.

I equated physical closeness with emotional connection,
as if the spark alone could stitch something real together.
Early experiences where intimacy felt more like currency than connection,
Led to the belief that chemistry was the safest bet.
That if someone wanted me, it meant I mattered.
That if I felt something, it had to mean something.

So I let chemistry lead.
I followed the pull.
I put emotion on the back burner in search of heat.

And sure, it lit up the room.
But it never kept me warm.

Those connections were built on adrenaline.
On sparks without substance.
They didn’t hold me.
They spun me.
They thrilled me, then blurred me.

Emotions and vulnerability were never on the table,
and somewhere in all of that, I got tangled in the sheets.

Now, I crave the middle ground.
Connection and chemistry.
A pull that doesn’t just light the match,
but continually tends the fire.

Because the alternative?
It’s a pattern I know well.

We say yes before we’re ready
because we want to feel wanted.
Because being chosen feels safer than vulnerability.
Because silence can sound like rejection.
Because we’re afraid someone will leave,
find something easier, shinier, less complicated.
Because somewhere along the way,
we were taught that ending up alone was the worst possible fate,
as if being alone is something to fear
instead of a space to breathe.

So we settle.
For almosts.
For crumbs.
For being half-seen in exchange for feeling half-held.
We trade our beauty for belonging,
our softness for survival,
our boundaries for the hope that maybe, just maybe, this one will stay.

But when that yes isn’t met with care,
it lingers in the body like a wound.

And when you’ve spent enough time tending the parts of yourself
that said yes too soon, just to be chosen,
you learn to pause.

To ask:
“Is this real?
Is this safe?
Is this connection… or just familiar?”

There’s power in that pause.
Not in withholding,
but in witnessing.
Yourself.
Your pattern.
Your truth.

So no, I’m not rushing toward the physical just because I feel the pull.
Not anymore.

Because when I choose to share that part of myself, it’s an offering,
not a transaction.
Not a placeholder.
Not a way to feel wanted by someone who hasn’t earned the right to see me,
let alone touch me.

I want the kind of connection that invites my heart to unclench.
That makes my nervous system exhale.
That doesn’t just flirt with me,
but holds me.
In presence.
In respect.
In real curiosity.

That’s what I’m making room for now.

Not because I’ve lost my fire,
but because I finally trust it.

Because it’s not just skin I’m offering.
It’s soul.

And soul deserves safety.
Soul deserves care.
Soul deserves love.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend❤️