The Longing to Be Desired

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There’s a part of me I don’t often talk about.

The part that longs to be desired — not just liked, not just accepted — but truly wanted. The kind of desire that doesn’t just tolerate your presence but lights up at the sight of you. That leans in. That lingers.

For a long time, I told myself I didn’t need that. That I was above it, or beyond it, or better off without it. But that wasn’t the truth. That was the survival story I had to write when I wasn’t being mirrored back as worthy. When desire felt unsafe. When I associated wanting with rejection.

So I suppressed it.
And in its place, I became “nice.”
I became “safe.”
I became someone who could never be rejected — but also, someone who rarely got to be fully seen.

Recently, I’ve started to realise that this part of me — the part that wants to feel wanted — isn’t weak. It’s not shameful. It’s not manipulative or selfish.
It’s sacred.

It’s the part of me that still believes intimacy could be mutual. That someone could see me — truly see me — and not flinch. That desire could exist without danger. That I wouldn’t be abandoned for being too much, or shamed for being vulnerable, or punished for being real.

That feels like healing.

And yes, it’s scary.
Yes, I still feel the echoes of old wounds.
But I’m starting to notice: the more I allow myself to feel that desire — without judgment — the more human I feel. The more whole I feel.

This isn’t about rushing into connection. It’s not about needing someone to fill a gap. It’s about reclaiming a part of myself I once buried to survive.

I want to be desired.
And that’s okay.

Maybe you do too.
And maybe it’s time we stop pretending otherwise.

Sometimes the most radical thing we can do is admit we want to be wanted — and then, lovingly, want ourselves first.