I Stopped Being The Back-Up Plan For Uncertain Lovers

We all deserve to be THE choice, not A choice.

It was almost flattering how often it happened if I didn’t think about it too hard. They would keep the relationship with me casual until they found someone else. Then, they’d occasionally pop back into my DMs when the relationship wasn’t going well or when they had a fleeting thought of me.

Let me be honest: I was vulnerable. My heart had been broken, and I really wanted to believe that I was wanted. Isn’t that, after all, what we all want? To be wanted? To be loved?

I accepted the crumbs of their affection. They accepted the stroke to their ego when their overtures weren’t rebuffed. I have genuine affection for the people I’ve connected with romantically, but I wonder if all I am is their forever runner-up, the reliable backup plan in case something better doesn’t turn out to be better after all.

I had this thought most recently when a text request for a date turned into a conversation 24 hours later about how he’d met someone else but wanted to keep in touch — the silent just in case tacked on to the seemingly innocuous request. But I am no man’s backup plan.

I started to realize that this initially flattering attention wasn’t flattering at all. I wasn’t someone to be cherished. I was an object to be picked up and put down on a whim. As this isn’t how I see myself, I began to ask myself why I allowed anyone else to make me feel this way.

It’s become easier to tell when someone has slotted me in as their back-up plan. It happens more than we might think. The date that cancels at the last minute because something came up immediately translates to someone came up. The former lover who keeps the contact fresh even after moving on to another relationship is attempting to keep the door open in case it doesn’t work out.

I’ve been in enough failed relationships to know that I deserve more than to be an option. I’m not the one to love until something better comes along. I’m not the consolation prize if the more desired relationship doesn’t work out. I used to tell myself that this is how dating works. We try on a fit, and when it doesn’t work out, we consider other options. We might even try to revisit old lovers that we didn’t give a fair shake before. But I started to ask myself why I was always the back-up plan and never the one they wanted.

In the interest of fairness and full disclosure, my life can be a lot for some to handle. I have a chronic illness that, while managed, can at times cause me to feel anxious or depressed. I have two children on the spectrum with low support needs — but support needs, nonetheless. I’m independent to a fault, and while I don’t need a partner, I do want one, but what I don’t want is a low-effort lover who won’t put the work in to stay connected and emotionally available. In other words, I’m not the easiest choice.

At least, that’s what I always told myself when this would happen. Then, I reframed it. I stopped telling myself that they were looking for better partners and started substituting easier or more compatible. I stopped making their rejection all about me. I had to stop telling myself that I was somehow too much or not enough. I realized that anyone who made me a second, third, or any other choice than first just wasn’t the right person for me.

I’m not a pick me girl anymore. I’m not waiting around for someone to see me as a strong potential partner. I’m not allowing myself to be the backup plan of yet another uncertain lover. My self-worth is no longer dependent on whether or not I’m the one someone chooses. I began to ask myself why the hell I would ever hope to be chosen by someone who couldn’t see a good reason to choose me. I believe that everyone has the innate desire to be chosen, but the healthiest choice is to choose someone who is choosing us right back.

If I’m honest, it can be lonely to commit to self-love and stop entertaining less than we deserve. Sometimes, I’m tempted, but then I remember how settling for less than what I truly want always leaves a bitter aftertaste. It’s not worth it, and if we cannot escape from loneliness this way, then we must learn to befriend it as much as we are able.

Loneliness, at least, is real. It’s honest. It’s not an illusion of something that it’s not. It hurts but so does feeling second best. It aches but so does staying in a relationship with someone with one foot out the door.

I let the loneliness be what it is, but I don’t just wallow in it. I spend a day in my garden nurturing the plants I’ve selected. I let my love flow into my children and pets. I make more time for friends, and when I curl up to read a book uninterrupted, I can even find appreciation in the solitude. I am intentionally crafting a beautiful life, and if sometimes it’s a lonely one, I accept that it’s a healthier choice than letting myself be almost loved by someone who is almost committed.

I even began to understand the desire to have a contingency plan in the event a relationship failed. It’s scary to face the potential that a much-desired connection could end, and the uncertainty of the future can create its own anxiety. Lining up possibilities might feel safer, but it keeps people from fully committing to and investing in their present relationship, and it relegates all the other options to feeling second-best. It might feel like the most practical approach, but it’s not kind, fair, or honest to anyone.

I used to fall in love with potential. Then, for a long time, I allowed myself to be other people’s potential possibilities. I guess you could say I’m done with potential now. I want a love that’s honest and real. I want to be the first choice of my first choice, and if I can’t have that, I’ll make peace with a life that’s often beautiful even when it’s sometimes lonely.