Just because you’ve been “chosen,” doesn’t mean you have to choose them back.

I can’t tell you how many years of therapy it cost me to write out that statement.

Many years ago, when I was completing my residency in Nebraska, I made friends with a whole family. We all met playing paintball, and I immediately fell in love with them. They were warm, laughed loudly, loved playing boardgames, and happily gave me a sense of home and belonging in a new place. It wasn’t long before I became a fixture of their family — helping out in the garden, chopping vegetables in the kitchen. My heart aches with joy when I think back to those days at their house.

Somewhere along the way, I got the sense that one of their sons caught feelings. He never made any sort of move, but I could tell from the way his gaze lingered on me, the way he always seemed to smile when he looked at me. (His mother, my dearest friend among them, later confirmed those suspicions.)

Here’s the thing: I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was not romantically interested in him. Not a single feeling I had resembled that sort of attraction. I was certain of that about myself, just as I was certain I have brown eyes and a scar above my right eyebrow.

And yet, once my mind caught wind of those feelings, something insidious started happening within it.

But…couldn’t you feel that way about him?
Don’t you want to know you made him happy?
He’s chosen you. You can’t disappoint him.

I cannot tell you disconcerting it was to witness my brain do this: to watch as it tied itself in knots, trying to convince me that I was attracted to a man I had zero attraction towards. I was absolutely furious with myself.

At this point, I was just a few months out from being crowned “doctor.” I was a freaking therapist; I knew why this was happening. I understood why my brain clung onto the idea of being “chosen” like a starved animal. But that didn’t stop the feelings from surfacing. It didn’t save me from watching my trauma play out like a bad horror movie, screaming at the screen “Don’t you do it! Don’t you open that fucking door!”

…I didn’t, thank goodness. I reminded myself, over and over again, “Just because you’ve been ‘chosen,’ doesn’t mean you have to choose them back.” And I wish I could tell you that I learned my lesson — that from that moment on, I saw every one of those doors for what they were. Alas, that would be a lie. I did that several more times. Twice more in that year alone, in fact. And that’s only if we’re counting the romantic side of things.

In my defense, not all of those situations were so glaringly obvious. My brain did a remarkable job of focusing on the things I did find attractive about those people: They take such good care of me!, or We have so much fun together!, or some other painfully shortsighted reason.

At the end of the day, it was fear — fear that their love is all I would ever get, and if I rejected it, I’d come to learn that I was never really lovable after all.

I’m happy to report that things are a lot better for me now. I have a sense of self that can stay resilient in the face of rejection. I don’t feel guilty about rejecting potential partners anymore. And in the past year, I’ve broken ties with not one, but two problematic friends who made me feel extra special for having been “chosen” by them. (Woo! Go me!)

So if some of my experiences sound familiar, know that there is hope. It does get better. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean the struggle is entirely gone. These sorts of things have a way of weaseling their way into every aspect of one’s life, then cropping up just when you think they’re gone for good. (Sorry, but it is true.)

Which brings us to today:

This week, friends, I was chosen. I was made to feel special and wanted. And that’s a wonderful thing.

But instead of mistaking that gratitude for obligation, I paused and asked myself: do I really want them, too?

We’ll find out. Wish me luck ;)