Don’t Shrink to Fit Into Someone’s Half-Love
You know that weird crouch you do when you’re trying to squeeze into the world’s tiniest airplane bathroom? That’s what shrinking yourself for someone else’s “almost love” feels like. Except way less hygienic, and you leave with emotional whiplash instead of a cramp in your thigh.
Let’s call it what it is: half-love. The “I’m into you, but not enough to show up consistently” flavor. Or, the classic: “I want you around, but only when it’s convenient for me, thanks.”
Please. You are a whole, complicated, slightly magical woman. Your laugh is too loud sometimes. Your appetite for life (and chocolate) is enormous. You get deeply excited about things people think are boring, like eucalyptus-scented hand soap or the way the sunset hits your bedroom wall.
Spoiler alert: The right person WILL NOT ask you to make yourself smaller. Not even a teeny, tiny bit. They won’t give you half a heart and expect full devotion in return. No one should ever make you feel like you need to squeeze your dreams, your voice, or your soul into a pair of emotional skinny jeans two sizes too small.
But of course, we’ve all done it. We’ve ignored the red flags. (Honestly, at this point, some of us could decorate an entire Olympics opening ceremony with the amount we’ve collected.) We mute ourselves. We laugh at jokes we don’t find funny. We convince ourselves that “maybe I am too much,” and so we quiet everything gorgeous and wild and juicy about ourselves.
Why? For someone who can’t even commit to Friday night plans till the last second? For someone who ghosts more than Casper, but still expects exclusive rights to your attention when he reappears? Ugh. Hard pass.
Half-love is like that half-empty bag of chips—disappointing, unsatisfying, and always leaving you wanting more. Except, unlike chips, loving someone shouldn’t leave you hungrier than when you started.
Here’s the raw truth, love: Your light will NEVER be too bright for the person who’s meant for you. The right person will pop sunglasses on and go, “Damn, she glows.” The ones who squint and complain? Not your people. You don’t need shrinkage. You need expansion. Maximum wattage. The full Beyoncé Formation, but for self-worth.
So, why do we even entertain these “maybe” loves? Oh, because we think we can change their mind. We think if we shrink just a *little* more, maybe they’ll finally get it, and meet us in the bigness and messiness of real, actual love.
No, babe.
There is no award for “Most Patient Woman Who Tolerated a Situationship Into Submission.” I checked. It doesn’t exist.
Here’s your permission slip: Do not make yourself smaller so you’ll fit into the dying space where someone’s love *might* grow. Do not sharpen your edges down just to avoid poking someone who doesn’t even have the guts to see you fully. If they’re only giving you half, you’re allowed—hell, you’re *obligated*—to want more.
You are allowed to ask for the whole thing: the messy texts, the giddy hand-holding, the loyal devotion, the “good morning” and the “couldn’t sleep without saying goodnight.” Romance, respect. Realness. Not this weird, lukewarm soup that’s more obligation than adoration.
Let’s make a pact: No more shrinking. If they don’t love you in 4K, high-def, all-woman technicolour, let them find someone else to dim. Not you.
You’ve got better things to do. Like spill out of your own skin and take up all the room that half-lovers never could.
High heels on and chin up, babe. The era of “shrinking for scraps” is dead. Long live the Queens who stay big, even when the world—or a half-interested guy—tries to hand you a smaller crown.
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