Are You in Love, or Are You Just Addicted to Proving Your Worth?

You tell yourself this is what passion feels like—the anxiety, the uncertainty, the dizzying high of a text message finally returned. You want someone to look at you and, with a single glance, say, "You are the one. I choose you." In that moment of being chosen, you feel a profound sense of safety and value. It’s a dangerous and seductive thought: if you are desired, you are worthy.

Anything that threatens this idea, anything that whispers of a love that is calm, stable, and reliable, you push away. After all, earning the affection of someone emotionally distant, unpredictable, and difficult to impress can feel like salvation. It feels like healing a wound. But it isn't. It's just another frantic attempt to prove you are good enough.

The Origin of the Wound

This pattern didn't begin with romance. It started much earlier, in a place where love felt conditional. Perhaps it was a parent whose approval you had to earn, or a family that praised you only for your achievements, never for your feelings. In an environment where accomplishment was everything and emotion was a weakness, you learned to adapt.

You became what you needed to be to avoid rejection. You learned to be charming, helpful, smart, and undemanding. You hid the parts of yourself that might be imperfect, messy, or real, and you perfected an image that was more likely to be chosen. Now, as an adult, that old wound still dictates your desires. You say you want a partner, but what you truly crave is a witness to your worth.

The Seduction of the Unattainable

You mistake emotional turmoil for passion and distance for intriguing mystery. An unpredictable partner doesn't feel like a red flag; it feels like a challenge to be won. This is because a core belief has taken root: the harder you must work for someone's attention, the more valuable their approval becomes.

This is why you chase those who are unavailable and call it destiny. It's why you romanticize the silence of those who don't message back. A stable, secure love feels foreign and unexciting because your nervous system has grown accustomed to chaos. To be blunt, you are not simply looking for love; you are dependent on the struggle to prove you are worthy of it. You are addicted to the chase for someone else's approval.

True love, in its quiet strength, feels boring and even suspicious by comparison. It doesn’t create storms in your soul or make you question your value every five minutes. True love is not a battle to be won; it is a place to come home to. And for someone who is used to performing, home can feel unsettling because it requires no performance.

The Fear Beneath the Mask

So, what is the real fear? It’s not rejection; you are already an expert in handling that. The real fear is being seen without your carefully constructed mask. You are terrified of being loved when you are not being impressive. You are afraid of being truly known.

A question haunts you: What if, when I stop trying so hard to be perfect, there is no one left? This is the wound that drives the illusion. You think, "If I can make this closed-off, emotionally distant person choose me, then I will finally be worthy." But this isn't a path to healing; it’s a path to self-denial disguised as love. It is tying your self-worth to another person’s inability to connect. You don't just want to be loved; you want to be special. You want to be the exception, the one who finally broke through their walls. Because if you can earn the love of the unavailable, then maybe the relentless inner voice asking, "What's wrong with me?" will finally fall silent.

But even if they choose you, the relief will be temporary. The doubt will remain, because the wound didn't start with them. It started with you. And no one else can truly love the parts of you that you, yourself, refuse to accept.

The Path Back to Yourself

Healing begins with grief. You must mourn the version of yourself that believed love had to be earned. You grieve for the child who thought they had to be perfect to be wanted and the teenager who saw being chosen as the ultimate proof of their value.

Then, you begin to learn again. You stop treating relationships like an exam you must pass. You let go of the need to be the smartest, strongest, or most convenient person in the room. You allow yourself to be ordinary. You allow yourself to be seen, not for a list of accomplishments, but for who you are. You allow yourself to be angry, to be imperfect, and to mourn all the times you were worthy of a love you never received.

And you start to wonder: what does love that isn't born from pain even look like?

You learn to sit in silence and feel loneliness without letting it define your worth. You stop holding on to people who confuse you, because you now see with clarity: confusion is not connection. It will feel uncomfortable at first. Your nervous system, so used to the chase, will long for the familiar highs and lows. But you will continue to choose peace, because you no longer expect love to save you from yourself.

When someone leaves, you let them go. Their departure is not a verdict on your worthiness; it simply means you are not the right person for them, and that realization no longer has the power to destroy you. Healing is when you can be weak and not apologize for it. It is when you stop chasing those who make you feel small just to prove you deserve to be seen.

Here is the truth that changes everything: You were never meant to be chosen. You were meant to be seen, known, and loved for exactly who you are. The moment you accept this, the power shifts. You are no longer waiting; you are choosing. You decide who is worthy of your energy, your time, and your heart. And most importantly, you finally, unequivocally, choose yourself. Not because someone else told you that you were worthy, but because you now know it to be true.

References

• Levine, A., & Heller, R. S. F. (2010). Attached: The New Science of Adult Attachment and How It Can Help You Find—and Keep—Love. TarcherPerigee.

  This book provides an accessible introduction to adult attachment theory, which explains the core dynamics described in the article. It details how early relationships with parents shape our adult attachment styles (secure, anxious, avoidant). The article's central theme—chasing unavailable partners and mistaking anxiety for love—is a classic manifestation of the "anxious" attachment style, which this book explains in detail, offering pathways toward developing a more "secure" attachment style. The sections on identifying attachment styles (Chapter 3) and understanding the anxious-avoidant trap (Chapter 7) are particularly relevant.

• Brown, B. (2010). The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. Hazelden Publishing.

  Brené Brown's work directly addresses the article's focus on worthiness, shame, and the fear of being truly seen. The entire book is a guide to what Brown calls "Wholehearted living," which involves cultivating courage, compassion, and connection. It argues that our sense of worthiness cannot be contingent on external validation, like being "chosen." The concepts discussed in Guidepost #1: "Cultivating Authenticity: Letting Go of What People Think" and Guidepost #3: "Cultivating a Resilient Spirit: Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness" directly support the article's call to stop performing and embrace one's true self.

• Young, J. E., & Klosko, J. S. (1993). Reinventing Your Life: The Breakthrough Program to End Negative Behavior and Feel Great Again. Plume.

  This book introduces the concept of "lifetraps," or self-defeating patterns that begin in childhood and echo throughout our lives. The article describes what the authors would call the "Defectiveness/Shame" lifetrap (the feeling of being unworthy) and the "Subjugation" lifetrap (suppressing one's own needs to please others). The book explains the origins of these patterns, such as growing up with critical or demanding parents, and provides cognitive therapy techniques to challenge and heal them. Chapter 8, "The Defectiveness Lifetrap: 'I Feel Unworthy,'" is especially pertinent to the article's exploration of feeling inherently flawed and seeking validation to cover it up.