There is a particular kind of uncomfy vulnerability that comes with wanting someone. Not just wanting to sleep with them, but wanting their attention, their affection, their time, wanting to be chosen, and wanting to know that the person you're thinking about is thinking about you as much you’re thinking about them.
Here’s the thing though. Desire can make us feel alive, but it can also make us feel out of control. It can feel like a “diabolical crush,” as my best friend Mary puts it.
When you want someone, you give them the ability to disappoint you. You open yourself up to the possibility that they won't want you back in the same way, that they'll change their mind, or that you'll care more than they do. And for some people, that possibility is enough to make desire feel like something they shouldn’t touch.
So we do what us silly humans are very good at doing: We try to protect ourselves.
We tell ourselves we're not that bothered. We stop reaching out first, pretend we're more casual than we actually are, or start picking apart the person we're dating so we don't have to admit how much we like them. Sometimes we pull away from something that feels good because being vulnerable to disappointment feels more uncomfortable than being alone.
Of course, let’s not get it twisted. Not every hesitation is self-protection. Sometimes you genuinely aren't compatible with someone. Sometimes your instincts are telling you something important. The point isn't to question every boundary or convince yourself to stay in situations that don't feel right. It's to become curious about what happens when you start to want someone and the stakes feel higher than you'd like them to be.
For some people, wanting someone can bring up old experiences of rejection, abandonment, or feeling like they had to work for love. For others, it can challenge a deeply held sense of independence. If you're used to being the person who doesn't need much, suddenly caring about someone can feel like giving away a part of your control.
And this is where things get a little more complicated. We're constantly told to embrace vulnerability. Open up, we say. Communicate. Let people in. And yes, obviously, these things matter. But vulnerability isn't something you can just decide to be good at one day. It actually takes practice. It means getting comfortable with being honest about what you want, even when there's no guarantee you'll get it. It means learning that you can survive the disappointment, the rejection, or the possibility that someone simply doesn't feel the same way.
You can tell someone you like them without knowing whether they'll feel the same. You can ask for what you want without having a guarantee that you'll get it. You can enjoy a connection without needing to know exactly where it's going.
That doesn't mean you have to abandon your discernment or ignore your needs. It means allowing yourself to experience desire without making certainty the price of entry.
Because sometimes the fear isn't really about the person in front of you. It's about what wanting them brings up: the possibility of rejection, of being too much, of needing something you can't control.
And there is no shame in that. As I always tell my clients, you can't really fall in love if you aren't willing to get your heart broken.
The work isn't about becoming fearless. It's about learning not to let fear make your decisions for you. You can be scared of rejection and still be honest about what you want. You can care about someone without trying to control how they feel about you. You can let yourself enjoy something beautiful without needing a guarantee that it will last.
Because wanting someone is a risk, even when it's a beautiful one. And sometimes you have to let yourself be a little exposed, knowing that the person you're hoping for might not feel the same way.
And that’s how we start to do the work to get the healthy relationships we actually want.
