Choosing Me

Two numbers hold such significant meaning for me: 3 and 25.

Three was the age I was when my father walked out of my life. Twenty-five was the age I was when I met my dad again as an adult.

For much of my life, I felt like I was searching for the love, security, and affirmation I believed a father was supposed to provide. I longed for my biological dad, and when I eventually realized that he did not have the capacity to show up for me in the way I needed, I began to imagine the man who would.

I fantasized about being chosen.

I envied women in romantic relationships who seemed to have the very thing I longed for: someone who chose them, loved them, committed to them, and wanted to build a life with them. I wanted that so badly. I wanted a man to pick me. To love me. To stay. To choose me.

And because I wanted to be chosen so badly, I sometimes lost sight of the fact that I had a choice, too.

In my twenties, I found myself in relationships with men who did not truly value me. But being chosen—or what I thought was being chosen—felt good. I accepted breadcrumbs and small acts of affection because, at the time, they felt better than the emptiness I carried inside.

I stayed in a relationship for a long time that I had settled for.

Because I wanted to be chosen.

I overlooked lies, insecurities, inconsistency, and emotional immaturity because I held onto the hope that one day he would choose me as his wife. I kept waiting for someone else to give me the validation I had been searching for most of my life.

Looking back now, I thank God for closing that door.

It took me until my late 30s to truly understand something I wish I had known much sooner:

I am already chosen.

God chose me.

And now, I choose me.

Not from a place of selfishness, pride, or independence from God—but from knowing who I am in Him.

The void I spent years trying to fill through relationships was never meant to be filled by another person. The love, security, identity, and affirmation I was desperately searching for were already available to me through my Heavenly Father.

I don’t have to beg someone to choose me.

I don’t have to convince someone of my worth.

I don’t have to accept less just because I’m afraid of having nothing.

I don’t have to shrink myself, overextend myself, or abandon my standards just to keep someone around.

I can choose myself because God has already chosen me.

And perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons of my journey: sometimes God closes the door we desperately wanted because He is trying to show us that the door was never the source of what we truly needed.

I spent so much of my life asking, “Will someone choose me?”

Now I’m learning to ask a different question:

“Does this align with who God has called me to be?”

That shift changes everything.

I still desire love. I still desire marriage. I still desire partnership and companionship. Those desires are not wrong. But they no longer get to define my worth.

I am not waiting for someone to make me feel chosen.

I am chosen.

By God.

And because I know that now, I can wait differently. I can love differently. I can set boundaries differently. I can walk away differently.

I can stop settling for what looks like love simply because I am afraid of being without it.

I can trust that what God has for me will never require me to abandon myself to receive it.

So here’s to choosing me—not because I don’t want to be loved by someone else, but because I finally understand that I am already deeply loved.

I am chosen.
I am loved.
I am worthy.
And I choose me.