unchosen.

Rejection arrives like an uninvited guest, slipping through the cracks of the door you swore was locked. It lingers in the air, heavy as the scent of rain that never falls, a storm that gathers but refuses to break. You sit with it, this quiet ache, tracing the outline of absence like a child running fingers over the edge of a missing puzzle piece.

You have been the unanswered call, the unopened letter, the hand reaching out only to meet air. You have learned that silence has a texture—it is rough, uneven, catching against the skin like the frayed hem of an old, familiar shirt. And yet, you wear it anyway.

You have watched your friends be chosen like constellations, traced and named by boys who see them as worth knowing. You have listened to giggled confessions, to late-night messages and flowers left on desks, and you have smiled through it all, holding your own questions like loose threads you are too afraid to pull.

Is it the way you laugh? The way you walk? The way you exist?

You have stood at the shoreline of someone else’s affections, watching the tide pull away before your feet could sink into the sand. You have sent versions of yourself out like paper boats, hoping one would be light enough to float, worthy enough to be kept. They all returned to you, waterlogged and torn.

And after a while, you stop reaching. You tell yourself it’s better this way, safer. If you never put yourself in the light, no one can look at you and decide to turn away. If you never step forward, you will never feel the weight of retreat. You learn how to fold into corners, how to make yourself so still, so quiet, that no one will have to reject you—because they will never truly see you at all.

But life is not a game of being chosen, you realize. You are finally making peace with the fact that in a room of ten people, you may never be picked. That love may not arrive in the way you expect, that some doors will never open, no matter how long you stand before them.

And perhaps there is a quiet victory in this, in realizing you are not meant to fold yourself into palatable shapes just to be held. That you do not have to be softer, smaller, more digestible.

That rejection is not the end of love, but the beginning of courage—the courage to stand in the open, unshielded, knowing you will not always be chosen, and choosing yourself anyway.

---

For a long time—especially as a teenager—I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t getting the attention some of my friends did. I watched them be chosen, pursued, adored, while I remained unnoticed. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but a quiet wondering, a lingering question: Why not me?

Even in a group of friends, I most times felt like I was standing at the edge, present but sidelined. It made me hyperaware of how I existed in spaces, how easily I could be overlooked. And after a while, I started shrinking myself before the world could do it for me. (One of the reasons you can easily get under my skin by reminding me of how small I am.😂)

But my life has taken a new turn since then. I have people in my life who make me feel like the best thing after bread, who remind me that being seen isn’t just about romantic attention. I still don’t get noticed by boys the way girls my age do, but honestly—who cares?

God has chosen me, I have chosen me, and that is enough.

If you’ve ever felt unchosen, sidelined, or unseen, I hope this piece reminds you that your worth isn’t measured by who picks you. Rejection isn’t a verdict on your value. You are whole, you are loved, and you are already chosen in ways that matter far more.

Thank you so much for reading, my love!

Till next week, bye!❤️