Liking Someone Shouldn’t Make You Feel Smaller

Liking someone rarely starts with fear. It starts with excitement.

And then, quietly, something else slips in.

At first, you felt lucky. This person felt rare. Magnetic. The kind of attractive that makes you slightly nervous, because you can’t quite believe they picked you.

So when the first uncomfortable moment happened, you didn’t label it a problem. You downplayed it.

Maybe they were having a bad day.

Maybe you were being too sensitive.

Maybe this was the normal friction that comes with someone “high value,” and you should be more patient if you want to keep them.

You did feel it. You just didn’t trust it yet.

When someone’s been elevated for a long time, boundaries often aren’t their survival skill

Some people grow up getting the same message from the world, over and over: they won’t run out of options.

They’re pursued. Admired. Given the benefit of the doubt before they earn it. If something gets tense, someone else usually smooths it over. If a relationship feels inconvenient, another opportunity shows up fast enough that they never have to sit with the consequences.

This isn’t about gender. It isn’t even about character.

It’s about conditioning.

When a person rarely pays a price for emotional volatility, they don’t develop the muscles most relationships require: explaining themselves clearly, repairing conflict, and respecting someone else’s line.

What wears you down isn’t the conflict. It’s how you start shrinking ahead of it

The most exhausting relationships aren’t the ones with a big fight every week.

They’re the ones where you slowly learn a new way to survive.

You rehearse your words before you speak, because you don’t want to trigger a mood shift.

You swallow normal needs, because you don’t want to be seen as demanding.

You sense tension and your first instinct isn’t curiosity. It’s self-audit.

What did I say wrong?

Was my tone off?

Did I ask for too much, too soon?

Notice what changed. You stopped asking what happened. You started asking what you did.

That’s not a boundary being crossed once. That’s a boundary being moved back, quietly, by you.

Scarcity’s most dangerous effect: it makes you afraid to confirm what you already know

When everyone treats someone as “hard to replace,” you become afraid of one specific thing: naming the imbalance.

Because once you name it, you have to face a hard reality.

Maybe you aren’t compatible.

Maybe this isn’t healthy.

Maybe the person you believe you’ll never meet again is exactly the person you should walk away from.

So you blur the edges.

You blur their sudden coldness.

You blur the accusations that come out of nowhere.

You blur the fact that they don’t repair anything, they just move on and expect you to follow.

You tell yourself, “Let me give it time.”

But every time you “give it time,” you’re also teaching them something: that you’ll stay even when they don’t treat you well.

Some relationships don’t suddenly get worse. You just slowly get smaller

Looking back, you might realize something unsettling.

You’re still in the relationship. Nothing dramatic happened. You weren’t “obviously” mistreated.

But you’re not the same person you were at the beginning.

You’re more careful.

Quieter.

Less direct.

You share less of what you feel, because you don’t want to be labeled “too much.”

And deep down, the question you keep avoiding sounds like this:

Why does liking someone require me to compress myself?

Mature attraction doesn’t keep you in a long-term state of unease

Healthy attraction doesn’t require you to constantly recalibrate your personality.

You don’t replay every conversation like you’re studying for an exam.

You don’t feel guilty for having needs.

You don’t spend the next day wondering where you stand because someone’s mood turned without explanation.

Clear boundaries don’t kill chemistry.

They make it livable.

People with boundaries might not feel as intoxicating at first. They might not create that high. But they give you something better: you can sleep. You can breathe. You can be yourself without bracing for impact.

The question isn’t whether they’re “worth it”

Ask a simpler, more honest question:

In this connection, have I become more cautious, more restrained, more unlike myself?

If the answer is yes, the rare thing in this situation may not be them.

The rare thing may be the experience of being respected, considered, and treated with steadiness.

Scarcity can create intensity.

Only boundaries create longevity.