Chapter 2 | Entry Eighteen

"Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop searching and start listening."

I'm standing at my mom's kitchen sink, washing the dishes after baking, the warmth of the water on my hands and the sweetness of fresh cookies still in the air, when I realize something.

I'm done.

Not in a defeated way. Not in a giving-up way.

But in a clear, quiet, necessary way.

I'm done dating.

I'm done with the swiping. The endless scroll of faces that blur together. The way my thumb moves automatically, left, left, left, left, ok maybe right. The motion so practiced it doesn't even register anymore. Like I'm searching for something I can't name in a place I know it doesn't exist.

I don't mind the coffee dates, the dinner dates. I actually enjoy laughing together, learning about someone's life story. Most are great company. But our lives don't align. Or our values don't match. Or he wants something I'm not ready to give.

I'm tired of the churn.

The constant newness with each person. The starting over. The explaining myself again and again to someone who might not even be here next week.

I want steady. Security. Familiarity. The kind of ease that comes from knowing someone to their core and being known in the same way. Not the performance of first dates. Not the audition or interview. Just... presence.

And I can't find that when I'm meeting someone new nearly every week.

Because that's what I've been doing, isn't it?

I've been going through the motions. Showing up. Smiling. Engaging. But never blooming. Never opening. I’ve been keeping myself guarded because I don't know if this person is safe yet, if they'll stay, if they can hold what I actually need.

My chest feels tight just thinking about it. The exhaustion of it. Not from giving too much, but from holding back. From staying half-open, half-present, half-here. From wanting to unfold but knowing it's too soon, too uncertain, too risky with someone I just met.

And I haven't asked the other question.

The one that matters just as much.

What do I actually need?

Not what I think I should need. Not what sounds reasonable or mature or realistic.

But what do I need to feel whole? Loved? Joyful? Safe? Provided for?

I don't know.

And that's the problem.

I've been making it nearly impossible for a man to care for me. Highlighting every flaw. Finding the smallest reason why it won't work. Rejecting him before he can reject me. Building walls so high that no one could ever climb over them, even if they wanted to.

My mom glances over at me and smiles, and I smile back.

She doesn't ask what I'm thinking about. She just keeps moving, steady and present, and I feel something settle in my chest.

This is what I need right now...steady presence.

Not another date. Not another conversation that goes nowhere. Not another man who only gets to see pieces of me but not the whole.

I need stillness.

I need to stop reaching outward and start listening inward.

I need to figure out what I'm actually looking for before I go looking for it again.

My phone buzzes on the counter. A sharp vibration against the wood, insistent. The sound cuts through the quiet hum of the kitchen.

I dry my hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven handle to look at my phone.

My hand reaches for the phone before I even decide to move. A notification from the dating app. Someone new. Someone I don't know and probably won't care about.

The screen is warm under my thumb, glowing with that familiar blue light. I unlock it without thinking, muscle memory carrying me through the motions.

The app opens.

Rows of faces. A few messages I haven't answered. Conversations that died mid-sentence because neither of us cared enough to keep them alive.

I stare at it for a moment.

My thumb hovers over the screen.

And I realize, I don't want this anymore.

Not the endless scroll. Not the performance. Not the hope that flickers and dies before it even becomes real.

What I want is my work that makes me feel capable. The projects that ground me, that remind me I'm good at what I do. I want to show up fully in the places where I already belong, not audition for belonging somewhere new.

I want time with my family. With my mom, like this, in her kitchen where everything smells like home. I want the quiet evenings where I'm not waiting for a text that never comes or analyzing every word and tone of a conversation.

I want to stop reaching.

I want to be still enough to hear what I actually need before I go looking for it again.

And then something shifts and settles in my chest. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just a quiet knowing, like my body has already decided and my mind is just catching up.

I press down. Hold. The icon jiggles. A small red X appears in the corner.

Delete?

Yes.

I tap it.

The app disappears.

Just like that.

I do the same with the other one. No hesitation this time. Just the press, the hold, the confirmation. Gone.

I set the phone back down on the counter, face down, and the kitchen sounds come rushing back. The dishwasher's low hum. The faint tick of the clock on the wall.

My shoulders rest.

It feels like relief. My mom glances over at me, dish towel in hand, and smiles. Not a questioning smile. Not concerned. Just...present. Like she knows something shifted but doesn't need to ask what.

"You okay, honey?" she says softly.

I nod. "Yeah. I think I am."

And I mean it.

Because maybe that's the work.

Not finding the right person.

But finding out what I need so that when the right person shows up, I'll actually know.

I'll know what it feels like to be loved in a way that doesn't require me to shrink.

I'll know what safety feels like, what joy feels like, what being provided for feels like, not just emotionally, but in all the ways that matter.

And I'll know when something is real and when it's just me trying to make it work because I'm tired of being alone.

My mom comes over to the sink and hands me a warm cookie from the batch we just made.

"Thank you," I say.

She squeezes my shoulder. "Of course, honey."

And I realize that this, this simple, grounded, ordinary moment, is exactly where I need to be.

Not out there searching.

But here.

—Still pausing to hear what I've been too loud