The Shadow Work No One Sees

There are parts of me that I am still learning to look at without flinching.

Parts that aren’t soft or holy or enlightened. Parts that crave, ache, cling, or enjoy things I wish I didn’t like. Parts that came from survival, not intention.

I don’t judge them anymore. I just want to understand them.

There was a time in my life when intensity felt like love. When someone checking for me, showing up unannounced, being territorial or possessive felt like passion instead of control. I mistook surveillance for devotion because no one ever taught me the difference. And if I’m being honest, a part of me liked it. Being wanted that deeply. Being claimed. Being someone’s obsession.

It made me feel chosen until it stopped feeling like a choice.

I didn’t understand that the same intensity that made me feel desired was also taking pieces of my autonomy, slowly, quietly, one boundary at a time. I didn’t recognize the difference between a man wanting me and a man wanting to own me. And when the fear finally outweighed the thrill, I had to face the part of myself that tolerated too much because I thought that was what intimacy felt like.

There are other shadows too — the way I sometimes enjoy being wanted by people I don’t truly want. The way I like the attention, the flirting, the orbit of someone who sees me as magnetic. I like being desired, admired, thought about. There is a softness in being held, kissed, cuddled when I’m sad. A comfort in being the person someone runs to, even when I know I cannot return the feeling.

It’s not malice.

It’s not manipulation.

It’s the remnants of a girl who learned that closeness was something you borrowed, not something you built.

And then there’s the ego — the part of me that flares when someone I shared a moment with redirects their energy toward someone I don’t resonate with. I don’t want him. I don’t want her. But the mismatch irritates me. It’s not jealousy. It’s a sense of, “Why was I even placed next to this energy?” It’s not about losing anything. It’s about the story shifting in a way that feels off-key.

I’m still learning how to separate my soul from my ego. How to let people come and go without feeling replaced. How to release the desire to be desired. How to recognize when someone’s interest is about them, not about my worth.

Most importantly, I’m learning that I don’t have to be ashamed of these parts.

They’re not sins.

They’re not proof of brokenness.

They’re patterns formed in the absence of security, attention, validation, and being seen with gentleness.

These shadows are just younger versions of me, versions who found survival in intensity, closeness, being wanted, being chosen. Versions who didn’t yet know that love can be soft, steady, mutual, and safe.

Now I’m grown enough to hold all of it:

The girl who craved control because it looked like passion. The woman who likes being admired because it feels like power. The ego that bristles when the wrong people cross my orbit. The spirit that still believes in aligned, healthy, respectful love.

I’m not ashamed of any of it. I’m simply aware now.

Awareness is what separates who I was from who I’m becoming.

And I’m choosing the version of me who doesn’t need intensity to feel desired, who doesn’t need attention to feel alive, who doesn’t need chaos to feel chosen. I am choosing the version of me who knows that the kind of love I want will never require me to shrink, to panic, to prove, or to perform.

I’m learning that desire can be sacred. Attention can be respectful. Intimacy can be consensual, safe, mutual, and grounding. And being admired doesn’t require being consumed.

I am finally seeing the difference. And I’m proud of the woman who is emerging through that clarity.