Desired Isn't The Same As Being Chosen

For the ones who spent years wondering if they were enough

Mami, mira!

My four-year-old twins are in that season of life where everything feels urgent.

“Mami look”

“Come here!”

“Look what I did!”

They pull flowers from the bushes in front of their daycare and gift them to me, like they’re bouquets. They pull me onto the floor to play with them. They climb into my lap just because they want to be close. (or in their words, snuggle)

Some days, if I’m honest, it’s exhausting.
But lately, I’ve realized they’re asking me for something much deeper than my attention.

They’re asking,

“Do you see me?”

When they’re having a hard day, I’ve been learning not to immediately correct the behavior but to get curious about the need underneath it.

To meet them where they are.

It’s been beautiful.
But, it’s also been heartbreaking.

Because I realized I’ve spent years longing for the very thing I’m trying to give them.

To be seen.
To feel safe.

To know that someone’s love isn’t measured by how much they want me,
but by how consistently they choose me.

For a long time, I thought the deepest grief of my divorce was losing my marriage.
My identity. The future I was building.
The way I thought people would see me.

It wasn’t.

The deeper grief came afterward.

When I realized how much of myself I had abandoned trying to keep a relationship together.

How many times I swallowed my own needs to keep the peace.

How often I confused someone’s desire for me with their willingness to build a life with me.

Those are not the same thing.

Someone can desire you deeply.

They can miss you.
Need you.
Reach for you.
Find you beautiful.
Even love parts of you.

And still not choose to build the love your heart is yearning for.

During my divorce process, my friend looked at me and said,

“I didn’t realize how insecure I was until after my divorce.”

At first, I thought,

“Am I insecure?”

The more I sat with that question, the more I realized my insecurity wasn’t born because I thought I wasn’t enough.

It was born from spending years wondering if I was enough to be chosen.

Years writing about self-love and self-care.
Years reminding strangers that they were worthy of gentleness.
Years creating affirmations I desperately needed someone to say to me.

And there’s a huge difference,

One questions your worth.
The other is a wound created by living too long in uncertainty.

Uncertainty changes you.

It teaches you to over-function.
To over-explain.
To over-love.

To believe that if you become a little more patient, a little quieter, a little easier…maybe this time someone will choose you.

Healing has been teaching me something different.

Being chosen isn’t something you convince another person to do.
It’s something they freely offer.

Now, every time one of my boys grabs my hand and says,

“Mami, look!”

I stop.

I look.

Because I want them to grow up knowing what I spent years trying to learn.

That love doesn’t just admire you.

It pays attention.
It shows up.
It stays curious.
It makes room for you.
It chooses you in ordinary moments.

And maybe that’s the greatest gift this season has given me.

Not another relationship.
Not another chance to prove that I’m lovable.

But the chance to become the kind of woman who believes she is loved and gives her children what she is learning to give herself.

A home where they don’t have to earn being seen.

A love where they never have to worry or wonder if they’re wanted.

A life where being chosen isn’t something they have to fight for.

And that’s the inheritance I want to leave my children.

A mother who didn’t always get things right,
but, one who shows up and keeps choosing them in the ordinary moments.

One who looks up when they say, “Mami, mira.”

One who teaches them, by the way she loves herself, that real love never asks you to disappear to deserve it.

And maybe that’s what this season has been about all along.

Not searching for someone to choose me.

But becoming the woman who no longer abandons herself waiting to be.

Before you go…

I’d love to leave you with a blessing from my next collection,
Letters to My Nervous System.
Coming August 6, 2026.

I hope it meets you where you are.

Thank you for being here.

I haven’t written here in a couple of months.

Life has been asking a lot of me, in the best and hardest ways. I’ve been rebuilding, mothering, creating, and learning what it means to choose myself after years of waiting to be chosen.

I’m grateful you’re still here.

If this essay found you at the right time, I’d love for you to support this work.