Hey, beautiful humans! It’s your girl Tina here, coming to you live (well, as live as words on a screen can get) with another dose of realness, a sprinkle of humor, and a whole lot of heart. Today’s story is inspired by Yunna Serene’s song “You Never Chose Me,” which—let’s face it—hits harder than my coffee on a Monday morning after a night of absolutely not enough sleep. So grab a snack, get comfy, and let’s unravel this tangle of love, heartbreak, and the unexpected plot twist… of choosing myself.It’s a wild ride.
You ever find yourself waiting for someone to finally see you? Like, really see you. I’m not talking “squinting across a crowded room at 3 AM” kind of seeing, I mean the “Hey, I pick you!” sort of moment. Yeah, that was me. I’d hype myself up for every text, every glance, every accidental brush of hands like it was the season finale of my personal rom-com. I kept thinking, “Okay, Tina, this is it. This is the moment you get chosen.” It was never the moment. I gave time. I gave patience. I gave that extra slice of pizza (I know, shocking). But somewhere between waiting and hoping, I realized I was giving myself away in pieces, just to fit in someone else’s maybe. I told myself his silence was just fear, but girl, no. His silence was just silence. Love shouldn’t feel like a Black Friday sale where you have to camp outside the store and pray you get picked before the good stuff runs out.
He was essentially the Gold Medalist in the “I’m Busy” Olympics. I heard every excuse in the book, from “work is crazy right now” (sure, but you’re posting memes at 2 AM, my dude), to “I’m just not good at texting” (yet somehow, you manage to reply to everyone else), to the classic “I’m scared of getting hurt.” Aren’t we all? But some of us still show up. I memorized his excuses the way I memorize my Starbucks order—except less sweet and way more bitter. I let my hope become a GPS, leading me straight to Disappointment City, population: me. Here’s a fun fact: If you have to decode someone’s behavior more than your Netflix password, it’s probably not love.
There I was, loving him at full volume—bells, whistles, confetti, the whole parade. Meanwhile, he was loving me on mute. If love was a radio, I was blasting Beyoncé and he was stuck on elevator music. I kept holding on, white-knuckling my way through every “maybe,” every “someday,” and every “not right now,” while he kept letting go, one slippery finger at a time. I wanted forever, and he wanted space—like, “Let me just orbit Saturn for a bit and maybe I’ll text you back in three weeks” kind of space. And here’s the kicker—I still blamed myself for his emotional Houdini act. Like maybe if I was just a little more, or a little less, or a little… something. But you know what? The only thing I should be apologizing for is how long it took me to realize that fighting for love shouldn’t feel like a one-woman wrestling match.
The truth eventually hit me like stepping on a Lego in the middle of the night—unexpected, sharp, and impossible to ignore. I kept breaking myself, hoping I’d find love hiding underneath the rubble. But sometimes, the only thing hiding is the reality you didn’t want to see. It turns out, he never chose me. Not once. Not fully. Not honestly. And the second I stopped denying it, it cut deep. Like, “eating-ice-cream-straight-from-the-carton-in-bed” deep.
But here is the plot twist where I become the main character: I am finally choosing myself. I’ve reached a place of acceptance where I know that maybe one day I’ll find someone who doesn’t make me question if I’m in love, someone who chooses me with their actions, not just their words. I have hope for someone who shows up in every move they make and doesn’t need a GPS to find their way to my heart. Until then, I’m hanging up my “Pick Me” jersey and putting on my “I’m Enough” crown. I found freedom in deciding I won’t beg for love or lose sleep over someone who couldn’t even see me standing right in front of them. It still hurts—let’s not pretend it doesn’t. Healing isn’t a straight line (it’s more like my WiFi connection: unpredictable, but I keep trying). But every day, I’m learning to breathe a little easier, knowing that I finally chose me.
If you’re reading this and nodding along, just know you’re not alone. We’ve all been there—waiting, hoping, breaking, and finally… rising. Love shouldn’t feel like a battle for attention, or a competition for crumbs. You deserve the whole damn cake (with extra frosting, if that’s your thing). So here’s to choosing ourselves. To loving loudly, but only for the people who show up with the same energy. And to never, ever settling for someone who makes you question your worth. Remember: Life is too short for low-volume love. Crank it up, babe. The right person will dance to your beat—no begging required.
Love,
Tina