Almost Chosen, Never Claimed

We weren’t official.

But he was the first person I said good morning and good night to.
He knew my Spotify Wrapped before my parents knew who he was.
We weren’t official, but I memorized how he liked his coffee, the way he tapped twice before sending a voice message, and how he never called me his girlfriend—but acted like I belonged to him.

And honestly? I let him.

I used to be that woman who said, “I’d never get into a situationship.”
I thought I was too smart, too guarded, too grounded.
But love—especially the kind that comes with just enough attention to keep you hoping—has a way of slowly blurring your lines.

It started as friendship.
Late-night chats. Inside jokes. Long car rides with music only we liked.
We both said, “Let’s just enjoy this. No pressure.”

But then came the nights we held hands.
The way he leaned in when he talked to me in a group.
The jealousy when I mentioned another guy.
The comfort in his eyes that felt like home.

It wasn’t official, but it felt real.

Real enough that I stopped talking to other guys.
Real enough that I started imagining how I’d tell our story one day.
Real enough that my whole world started tilting toward him.

I deleted dating apps. Cleared weekends just in case he wanted to meet. Showed up to his family parties. Cried when I saw him liking his ex’s post but never asked about it because… what were we, right?

There was no anniversary. No label.
Just hope. Just me, waiting.

Eventually, I asked.

I rehearsed the question five times in the mirror.

“Hey… where is this going?”

He blinked. Paused. Then said, “You know I care about you. But I’m not in the right place to commit. I don’t want to hurt you by making promises I can’t keep.”

I nodded like I understood. But inside? I shattered.

He didn’t make promises. But he gave me everything just short of one. And I gave my heart in return, unwrapped, undefended.

The hardest part wasn’t losing him.
It was losing me—the version of myself who once knew how to set boundaries.
The version who used to be enough without being chosen.

I kept scrolling through our messages for weeks.
Hoping for a “hey” or “I miss you.”
Sometimes I’d draft a long text just to say how he made me feel—then delete it before hitting send.
Because what was I even confronting? A relationship that technically didn’t exist?

The turning point came during a Bible study I didn’t want to attend. I was exhausted, eyes puffy, and halfway present. A woman shared her story—eerily familiar to mine. And then she read this verse:

Psalm 147:3
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a sign.
But I felt it.
I felt seen.

That night, I cried like I hadn’t cried in weeks. Not for him—but for me.
For the girl who settled. For the girl who waited. For the girl who deserved more and forgot that she did.

I’m still healing. Still fighting the urge to blame myself.

But now I know: I was not too emotional. I was not too available. I was just honest. And honesty deserves honor, not confusion.

So if you’re reading this—feeling ghosted, confused, half-loved—this is your reminder:

You are not hard to love.
You were not foolish for hoping.
But you deserve clarity, not chaos.
Commitment, not crumbs.

Healing begins the moment you stop asking why he didn’t choose you… and start choosing the PERSON Who really loves you.

— Held and Healing