Dear Curious Me: When Curiosity Becomes a Search for Reassurance

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Have you ever felt the need to dive into something even when you knew you probably shouldn’t?

You become overly invested.

You ask one question, and that question leads to another question. Before you know it, you have gone down an entire rabbit hole that may or may not have been good for you.

I do that a lot.

I have convinced myself that the more I know, the better I can move.

The more information I have, the more prepared I will be.

Although, if I am being honest, that is not always true.

Sometimes, the more I know, the more things I have to overthink.

I love documentaries. Not reality television, necessarily, but real-life documentaries.

I love learning about stories that have happened to people, especially when they happened near where I live.

Not because I am morbid.

The stories just scratch an itch in my brain.

I want to understand what happened.

Why it happened.

How it happened.

What decisions were made that led everyone to that exact moment.

But today, I realized my curiosity is not only about understanding other people.

A lot of the time, I am trying to understand myself.

When Curiosity Becomes Personal

I have been doing a lot of writing today.

That writing has caused me to revisit situations involving relationships, cheating, past experiences, and all the things that come along with them.

The more I dive into those situations, the more interested I become.

Then my curiosity leaves the story and walks directly into my real life.

It becomes:

How did this start?

Where did it start?

Why did you do it that way?

What were you thinking?

What does that mean about our relationship?

And what does that mean about me?

If you are asking from a place of pure curiosity, those questions may be harmless.

But with my mental health, it does not always work that way.

Sometimes, I ask a question because I think I want the answer.

Then I receive the answer and get offended because it was not the answer I wanted.

I tell people all the time to be careful what they ask because they may not like the answer.

And then I am the first person to ask a question and become upset when I do not like what I hear.

Begging for Scraps

Today, I was watching my dogs beg for scraps.

They know they have already been fed.

They have food.

They are not starving.

But the minute I sit down with something, they stare at me as if they have never eaten a meal in their entire lives.

And I had this strange thought.

How many times have I done the exact same thing?

How many times have I begged for scraps from another person?

A scrap of affection.

A scrap of attention.

A scrap of time.

Just whatever little piece they were willing to throw toward me.

I can look back at relationships where my needs were clearly not being met.

But I stayed because they smiled at me one day.

They said something kind once.

They gave me one small moment that felt good.

And my brain said:

See?

They are capable of giving you what you need.

You just have to stay long enough for them to do it again.

Why do our brains do that?

Why does one good moment suddenly become proof that everything will eventually change?

Why do we allow one gesture to erase an entire pattern?

The One Time They Were Nice

I know I am not the only person who has done this.

People talk about how unhappy they are.

They talk about how rough the relationship has become.

They explain how difficult their partner is.

And then they stay.

Because there was that one time the person did something nice.

So they are capable of being nice.

Therefore, maybe they should stay.

But one nice moment does not erase neglect.

It does not erase inconsistency.

It does not erase the way someone makes you feel the rest of the time.

A person being capable of doing something does not mean they are willing to do it consistently.

And consistency matters.

We Cannot Save Everyone

When did we decide that we had the power to change somebody else?

When did we decide we could save them?

If somebody is drowning, you help pull them out of the water.

If somebody is not breathing, you give them CPR.

But if somebody does not feel like you are good enough for them, there is no saving that.

If somebody treats you like shit, there is no amount of love you can pour into them that guarantees they will stop.

You do not have the power to save someone from the way they feel about you.

And yet, I try.

I become fixated on solving the problem.

How do I make them like me?

How do I make them want me?

How do I become the person they choose?

I know I do not have control over any of that.

And yet, I still hold on to the fight as if I am going to win some kind of prize.

But what exactly am I winning?

If I have to convince you to love me, what is the prize?

If I have to convince you to spend time with me, what did I actually earn?

If I have to make myself smaller, quieter, easier, prettier, less emotional, or less needy just to keep you, did I really win?

I Want to Be Chosen

I want to live in a world where the person who wants to be with me wants to be with me by choice.

I want to be chosen.

There is a difference between needing someone and wanting someone.

Years ago, I believed I needed a partner.

I felt like I could not survive emotionally without one.

Then I experienced a relationship where I did not need the person.

I wanted them.

And to me, that felt so much more valuable.

Needing me could mean that once you learn how to survive without me, I become useless.

Wanting me means that even though you are perfectly capable of living without me, you still want me beside you.

Somewhere along the way, I lost that plot.

I decided that whatever someone was willing to give me was what I had to accept.

I do not know when I decided that scraps were as good as it gets.

Soulmates and Different Kinds of Love

I have also been thinking about the difference between soulmates, lovers, and the love of your life.

I believe I found my soulmate years ago.

I will die on that hill.

To me, a soulmate is that one person where the connection does not make logical sense.

It simply exists.

It feels cosmic.

Magical.

Like you see each other so specifically that you learn things about yourself you may never have discovered without them.

But because I had already given someone the title of soulmate, I struggled to understand how I could ever love anyone else.

If I had already met my soulmate, did that make everyone who came afterward less than?

Could I possibly love somebody else as deeply if they did not have that title?

For a long time, I thought the answer was no.

But that was not true.

I have loved deeply since then.

The love was different.

But different does not automatically mean less.

Apparently, love has more than one shape.

Who knew?

The Titles We Give People

I have a hard time recycling titles.

I cannot look one person in the face and call them my husband, then turn around and call somebody else my husband without my brain questioning it.

The title belonged to that person.

The same thing happens with pet names.

If you were Babe, then my brain struggles with calling somebody else Babe.

It feels like the word should mean something specific.

So when I had already given one person the title of soulmate, I thought that meant there was no room for anybody else.

But maybe a title does not have to erase the love that came before it.

And maybe a different kind of love does not have to compete with it.

Struggling With Being the Second Wife

I struggle with being the second wife.

My husband has been married before.

He made promises before.

I assume that when he made those promises the first time, he meant them.

And yet, those promises were broken.

So my brain asks:

If those promises were broken before, what are the chances they will be broken with me?

If he already believed he found forever, how can I be forever too?

Logically, I know people can have second, third, or fourth marriages that are healthier and stronger than the relationships that came before.

I understand that.

Emotionally, it is harder to convince myself.

And that is what my curiosity does sometimes.

It takes the simplest fact and turns it into an entire trial.

Evidence.

Cross-examination.

Closing arguments.

All happening inside my head.

Why Does Love Need a Ranking?

When someone tells me they love me, my brain immediately asks:

What does that look like?

How much do you love me?

Do you love me more than your favorite food?

Would you choose me over somebody else?

Where do I rank?

Why does there even need to be a ranking?

I do not know.

There is someone I love who once told me that if I showed up in town while he was with another woman, he would tell her goodbye because I was there.

And I cannot explain how special that made me feel.

It told me I mattered.

It told me I was important enough for someone to stop what they were doing and choose me.

The sad part is, I already knew he loved me.

He should not have had to compare me to somebody else to prove it.

I do not believe I was asking him to prove anything.

But there is something in me that feels safer when I hear that I would be chosen over everyone else.

And that makes me curious.

Why do I need that validation?

Why can I not simply trust that I am loved?

Why does love feel more believable when it is compared to something else?

Loving Someone More Than Mexican Food

In my defense, if I tell you I love you more than Mexican food, that means something.

My friends and family understand how serious that statement is.

I love Mexican food.

Like, love it.

So if I put you on the same platform as Mexican food, that is high praise.

Potatoes too.

Apparently, I think in terms of food.

We are not going to judge me tonight.

But the point is, why?

Why can somebody tell me they love me and my first thought is:

Do they though?

But if they compare me to something else or say they would choose me over another person, suddenly I believe it.

Be Careful What You Ask

Sometimes, the question itself is the problem.

I once asked my husband, “When you do not want me, what do you do?”

In my head, I thought it was going to become a joke.

I expected him to give me a silly answer, and we would laugh.

That is not what happened.

He said, “Well, you just kept telling me no.”

And those words did not hit the way either of us expected.

He explained what he meant.

He said he was trying, and he did not know what else to do.

But by then, I had already processed the first answer.

That was my fault.

I was curious.

I could have asked a better question.

I could have phrased it differently.

I may have believed I was joking, but just because you think something is a joke does not make it funny.

Intent and impact are two different things.

You can intend to laugh with someone and still hurt their feelings.

If I can apologize because I accidentally stepped on someone’s foot, I can apologize when I accidentally hurt their feelings.

I do not get to say, “You are too sensitive,” simply because I did not mean for it to hurt.

I Do Not Have the Answer Tonight

I do not have an answer to tonight’s question.

And I am learning that I do not always need one.

That is not how journals work.

Sometimes journaling is simply taking all the thoughts rolling around in your head and placing them somewhere outside of you.

You can examine them later.

Tonight, I know that I am curious.

I know that sometimes I dive deeper than I need to.

I know I ask questions without always being prepared for the answers.

And I know that sometimes my curiosity is not really curiosity.

Sometimes it is insecurity wearing glasses and carrying a clipboard.

Sometimes it is fear trying to collect enough information to guarantee I will never be hurt again.

But no amount of information can promise me that.

Begging for What I Already Have

I am learning that sometimes I am needier than I want to admit.

Like my dogs begging for food when I know they have already eaten.

Sometimes I beg for things I already have.

I beg for love that has already been given to me.

I beg for time from someone who is already sitting beside me.

I beg to be chosen by someone who has already made a choice.

Maybe I am not always searching for more.

Maybe I am searching for reassurance that what I already have will not disappear.

I am enjoying learning about myself.

Even when the answers are uncomfortable.

Even when I do not find an answer at all.

And I appreciate you coming along for the ride while I learn what makes me, me.

I hope that while I am asking these questions, you are asking yourself a few too.

Why do you seek validation?

Are you begging for scraps from someone who has shown you they are unwilling to give you a full meal?

Are you trying to convince someone to choose you?

Are you asking questions because you truly want the answer?

Or are you hoping the answer will calm a fear you have not yet addressed?

Are you struggling to believe in love that is already sitting right in front of you?

You do not have to answer every question tonight.

Just remain curious.

Today is just another page in your story. It doesn’t have to be perfect.

It just has to be written.

Before you close your journal tonight, ask yourself:

What was your bite of pie today?

Until tomorrow,

Love you loud.