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Confessions of a Love-Hungry Romantic: Why I Retired from Chasing Text Messages

Creative 18 hrs ago
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    Linsey Living
    18 hrs ago
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    Let me start by saying this: I’ve lived, loved, and learned. Sometimes all in the wrong order. 😩

     

    My name is Sheila. I’m 25, Kenyan, a sucker for candlelit playlists, and, unfortunately, I used to wake up every morning like this:

     

    > “Did he text me?”

    “Why hasn’t he texted me?”

    “Maybe his cat accidentally sat on his phone.”

    “No wait—maybe he’s in a coma?”

    “Or maybe he’s just married. Oh wait… he is.”

     

     

     

    Yep. Let’s talk about that.

     

     

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    Exhibit A: The Married Man Saga™️

     

    I fell in love with a married man once. Okay, maybe more than once, but let’s not dwell. He said he loved me. Sweet right? No. It was sweet like a mango you don’t own—ripe, juicy, but technically someone else’s fruit.

     

    At first, I believed him. He made me feel seen. Like I was Beyoncé in a room full of extras. Until I realized I was more like a side dish that got ordered and forgotten at the waiter’s station.

     

    The lesson? If he can’t love the person he vowed to love in front of his ancestors, what makes you think he’ll love you with any kind of loyalty?

     

     

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    Exhibit B: The Disappearing Act

     

    Then came Mr. “I’m Busy.” He loved me in silence—long, loud silence. I had to beg this man to show up. I'd be like:

     

    > “Babe, can we talk?”

    And he’d reply: “Sure. In 2 to 5 business years.”

     

     

     

    He was emotionally unavailable, physically unavailable, and—plot twist—he was also spiritually unavailable.

     

    Sis, I was dating a ghost. Casper with commitment issues.

     

     

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    Exhibit C: The Romantic Plot Twist That Ended in Confusion

     

    Then I finally met someone who loved me. For like, five days. It was magical—flowers, compliments, real effort. I was like, “Wow! Maybe my ancestors have finally logged in.”

     

    But then he switched up. One day, he just… went emotionally bald. Left me wondering if I was the problem. (Spoiler: I wasn’t.)

     

     

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    The Real Gag

     

    After all that drama, I had a serious sit-down with myself. Not even in front of a mirror. Just me, my thoughts, and an empty bowl of Indomie.

     

    > Why do I keep loving people who don’t love me back? Why do I give so much and expect so little? Why do I treat myself like I’m optional?

     

     

     

    The truth slapped me gently like Nairobi wind after heartbreak:

    I didn’t love myself enough to set standards.

     

     

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    The Comeback Era ✨

     

    Now? I’m in my soft girl, unbothered, healing era.

    I wake up and check on me.

    I date me.

    I ask, “How are you today, Sheila? Want pancakes?” and then I make them.

    I no longer beg anyone to love me.

     

    Because if I love myself like I say I do, I won’t accept the bare minimum. I’ll wait for the real thing. And if it takes time, cool—I’m not a microwave meal. I’m a slow-cooked queen. 👑

     

     

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    Moral of the Story

     

    Stop romanticizing inconsistency.

     

    Don’t take “I love you” seriously if it comes with excuses.

     

    You don’t need to be someone’s secret to feel special.

     

    And lastly: You deserve a love that doesn’t confuse you.

     

     

    So if you’re reading this and refreshing WhatsApp to see if he’s replied—girl, close the app. Open a book. Or go open a bank account. At least that one might give

    you some interest.

     

    Love yourself loudly, because that’s the kind of love no one can ghost.

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