Maybe It Was Never About Finding Them — But Finding Me

Morocco, 2025

Do you want me to be honest?

I get all my inspiration for writing from my clients.They are my inspiration.

I’m going for a run, grabbing a coffee, opening my laptop to write, and I find myself thinking… Wow, I loved how Emily put into words what we’ve been working on in our sessions lately.

Somebody else recently said to me:"I like to have the objectives, but it’s a matter of how I get to them in the first place. Now I know what I want to work on."

Or this one — which turned into a deeply philosophical (and slightly heartbreaking) conversation:"Why do I choose the wrong guys?" she asked."I feel like I’m a different person now… but I’d still say yes if he asked me out."

And I said, "Do you remember when we worked with your old self? And we said she might still visit you now and then? Shall we invite her again and see how the conversation flows?"

This is the kind of emotional honesty and complexity that shows up in therapy — and in real life. And it brings us to something I’ve been wanting to talk about: how we work with insecurity and what it really means to ‘find the right partner.’

Dating while dragging a suitcase of insecurities behind you is a little like showing up to a marathon wearing flip-flops and hoping for the best. It’s possible, sure — but it’s going to hurt.

Many of us grow up absorbing the idea that love will fix us. That someone out there will make the anxious parts quiet down, fill the empty spaces, and finally make us feel "enough." Spoiler alert: they won't. And it’s not because people are disappointing — it’s because no one can build a foundation of safety for us from the outside in.

So before we go looking for “the one,” we need to do the courageous work of meeting ourselves. And that means working with our insecurities — not by shoving them into a corner and pretending to be "cool" and "chill" and "unbothered," but by holding them up to the light with curiosity.

Insecurity doesn’t knock. It just moves in quietly and starts unpacking — overthinking every message, making you feel like you need to earn love by being endlessly agreeable, funny, accomplished, low-maintenance.

It might whisper:

• “If they really knew you, they’d leave.”

• “You’re too much.”

• “You’re not enough.”

  
  
  
  

In therapy, we track those voices back. We meet the child who felt unseen, the teen who performed for love, the adult still carrying those scripts.We don’t shame those parts — we listen to them.

Because insecurity thrives in silence, but once it’s named, it can be softened. Questioned. Met with compassion.

This isn’t about “fixing yourself” before you’re allowed to date. You're not broken. And love isn’t a prize you win after a self-improvement marathon. But it is about building a relationship with yourself that feels like home.That’s where it starts.

It might look like:

• Noticing your emotional triggers without spiraling into shame.

• Practicing self-soothing, instead of waiting for someone else to rescue you.

• Building an identity that doesn’t collapse every time someone pulls away.

• Holding this belief: “I am worthy of love, even on my hardest days.”

These are emotional muscles — built over time, through therapy, reflection, and safe connection. When you’ve met yourself — when you’ve done that tender, often uncomfortable work — your standards shift.

You stop looking for someone to complete you.You start looking for someone to meet you.

You’re not auditioning anymore. You’re observing.

You’re not asking, “Will they choose me?”You’re asking, “Do I feel safe, open, and seen in this connection?”

And you start to notice:

• You’re less performative and more present.

• Rejection still stings — but it doesn’t shatter you.

• You crave emotional availability, not chaos.

• Boundaries feel less like walls and more like clarity.

  
  

Because when you’ve made peace with your old self — and welcomed your whole self — you start choosing people who can do the same.

So no, love won’t save you.But it will meet you, when you’ve already started saving yourself.

And that, I think, is the love worth waiting for.

Love,

A