There is a deep form of hurt that doesn’t stem from being rejected—it comes from being accepted at the cost of your own becoming. When you shrink your truth to make someone stay. When you say yes to being needed, but no to being seen. When you convince yourself that being chosen is worth more than being known. That’s not love. That is self-abandonment dressed in false belonging—and it’s time to lay it down.

You were not created to betray yourself for approval. You were not designed to constrict into versions of yourself that please people but rob you of your peace. Every time you say what you think they want to hear, every time you swallow your instincts to avoid tension, every time you smile through the sting of being misunderstood—something in you fractures. Not loudly, but enough to make you feel a little less at home in your own heart, and eventually, it adds up.

God never asked you to trade your soul for connection. He never asked you to become palatable in order to be loved.

At the end of the day, true love—the kind that was written by him, that kind that endures, doesn’t require you to water down your hope or distort your depth. It doesn’t thrive in performance. It grows in presence. In honesty. In the kind of holy self-respect that says, “I desire connection, but not if it costs me myself.”

Because here’s what no one tells you — being chosen means nothing if it’s not you being chosen. Not the smaller version, not the agreeable one, not the persona you put on to inspire attention—but the whole you. The tender, soft, unapologetically alive you. The one God sees clearly, the one God loves completely.

How do you stop betraying yourself? You start by noticing. Notice when you silence your intuition. Notice when you say yes, but you truly mean no. Notice when you’re twisting your joy into something manageable so you won’t be “too much.” Then, gently but foundationally, come back home to yourself. Stay loyal to your spirit—even if that means someone else walks away.

It will be uncomfortable. You will grieve the versions of love you thought were real, you may feel lonely, but what you’ll gain is far more evergreen— a life built on truth. A relationship with God that is no longer interrupted by your need for external validation. A depth within yourself that no one can take away or force you to abandon. 

You do not have to earn love by erasing yourself. You do not have to be less in order to be witnessed clearly. And you do not have to betray who you are in order to be chosen by someone who was never meant to see your worth in the first place.

God already chose you, and the right human being will too—not because you became easier to love—but because you finally believed that you already are.