Who You Become When You Give Up the Chase

There’s a version of myself I only met recently when I finally stopped chasing.

Not men — not really — but the feeling they gave me.

That tiny spike in my stomach when someone replied, viewed my story, watched my life from the sidelines like they were somehow part of it.

For the longest time, I wasn’t chasing a partner.

I was chasing stimulation.

I didn’t realise it until recently. Not until I caught myself refreshing a chat with a man I didn’t even like. Not a man I could picture a life with, or even a dinner with. I was chasing the ping. The validation. The hit. The “he’s thinking of me” myth we create out of absolutely nothing.

It wasn’t romantic.

It was addictive.

Social media has made the chase feel glamorous. Productive, even.

A man watches your stories, you match, you flirt, he disappears, you analyse, he returns, you get a rush, you screenshot the chat to your friend, she interprets it like a tarot reading — the whole cycle feels like movement.

Like something is happening.

Like this might be the one… or at least the one for the week.

But none of it is real.

I realised at one point that I had built entire romantic scenarios around breadcrumbs. Literally a “liked story” turned into three imagined dates and a possible future. I was high on potential, drunk on maybes, addicted to the rise and fall of someone who hadn’t even earned my actual interest.

And isn’t it funny how we mistake adrenaline for compatibility?

But it wasn’t until I stepped back — genuinely stepped away from the chase — that I saw it clearly.

The version of me who chased wasn’t even looking for connection.

She was looking for distraction.

The noise was easier than silence.

The attention was easier than introspection.

The fantasy was easier than admitting I didn’t feel seen in my previous relationships.

When I stopped chasing, it felt like withdrawal at first.

My phone felt too quiet.

My evenings felt too still.

No one was giving me a micro-hit of attention I could romanticise into something meaningful.

And for a moment, I wondered if I had made myself… boring.

But then something shifted.

I remember one night sitting on my couch, phone face-down, realising I actually liked the woman I was when nobody else was performing interest. I liked her thinking clearly. I liked her not waiting, not refreshing, not scanning a screen for clues. I liked the absence of background anxiety.

And then it clicked:

I wasn’t addicted to him.

I was addicted to the chase.

Once that fell away, I started noticing the difference between being noticed and being valued.

My taste changed.

My pace changed.

My standards sharpened.

Suddenly it wasn’t, “Does he like me?”

It became, “Do I feel peaceful with him? Or am I using him like caffeine?”

Giving up the chase, I feel more intentional.

More grounded.

Less performative.

More present.

I find myself craving depth — real conversation, reliability, someone who isn’t frightened by clarity. Someone who doesn’t just orbit you online but actually reaches into your real life. Someone whose energy feels like being exhaled.

Who you become when you give up the chase is a woman who finally understands that tension isn’t chemistry, and crumbs aren’t connection.

You learn that love doesn’t arrive through the rush — it arrives through the steady.

And that the man meant for you won’t require you to chase or decode or perform.

He’ll meet you where you are.

And the woman who stops chasing?

She’s not bored.

She’s not behind.

She’s not “unpicked.”

She’s finally choosing connection over chaos.

And that’s when everything changes.

Words by Eimear Everard