The Safety of the Unavailable

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There’s something oddly comforting about women who are unavailable.

Maybe they’re married. Maybe they’re distant. Maybe they’ve made it clear — they’re not interested.
And yet, somehow, that’s where I’ve felt most able to be… me.

Because there’s no risk of intimacy when intimacy is off the table.
No threat of being fully seen, only to be fully rejected.
No possibility of things going somewhere, which means no chance of them falling apart.

That’s not manipulative. That’s a nervous system seeking safety.

And it’s only now that I’m starting to understand it — not judge it.

I’ve felt attraction to women I can’t have, and I’ve also felt shame about it.
But when I sit with that shame — when I ask what’s really underneath — I don’t find bad intentions.
I find unmet needs.

A desire to feel wanted.
A longing to be seen, but only from a safe distance.
A craving for connection without the risk of abandonment.

There’s a younger part of me in all of this.
The boy who grew up being hurt by closeness.
The one who learned that love wasn’t safe, and that wanting something — especially someone — often led to pain.

That part of me doesn’t need to be fixed.
He needs to be listened to.
He needs to know he’s not dirty or shameful for wanting to feel something, even if it’s been misdirected.

I want to change this pattern — not because desiring someone is wrong — but because I want to stop running from real intimacy.
I want to desire women who can meet me where I’m at.
I want to be seen — not just glimpsed from afar.

And maybe the first step is letting myself be seen… by me.

Even in the places that feel a bit messy.
Even in the places where shame whispers that I’m too much.

Maybe especially there.