Connection is essential to us as human beings. It gives us a sense of belonging, of being loved, of being safe. Yet for me, connection has always felt difficult — elusive, even.
People often tell me I just haven’t met the right people, or that it’s normal to feel disconnected at times. But as I’ve explored this more deeply, I’ve realised that growing up, I taught myself that “connection” was something I had to earnby getting other people’s attention. When I succeeded, I felt safe. I felt seen. I felt loved. But when people didn’t stay, I felt like I wasn’t enough.
I learned early on that attention came when I was “good” — when I was kind, when I accommodated my mum’s emotional needs, when I tried to be perfect. Love felt scarce, and attention inconsistent. So I became hyper-aware, always trying to hold on to what little connection I had by putting others’ needs before my own. I thought that if I could just do enough, people wouldn’t leave. I never learned that someone could love me simply for being, not just for doing.
It’s fascinating how the mind and body adapt to protect us. The more I look inward, the more complex it seems. Sometimes my mind tells me, “You don’t need anyone. You’re independent.” But underneath that is fear — fear of rejection, fear of not being wanted. I realise now that sometimes I don’t give people a real chance to connect with me. I don’t let myself be curious about them, or allow them to be curious about me.
When you equate connection with attention, it becomes toxic — for you and for your relationships. If my partner seems distracted, distant, or shows interest in someone else, my mind instantly spirals: “What does this mean about me? Am I not enough anymore? Am I being replaced?” Even something as innocent as noticing another person’s beauty or confidence can feel threatening. It’s hard to believe that love can exist — that I can still be safe — even when attention shifts.
Beneath it all, there’s this deep craving: to be seen for who I am, not for what I do. Yet part of me still believes that I’m not enough, that my emotional needs are burdens, that being imperfect makes me unworthy of love.
But maybe the truth is the opposite. Maybe connection isn’t about being perfect or earning attention. Maybe it’s about allowing ourselves to be seen — imperfect, human, and still worthy of love.
