Why Being Wanted Doesn't Always Feel Safe | Coaching Call with Courtney (Part 4)
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Have you ever wanted something so badly and then felt your whole body tense up the moment you actually got it?
That is not a quirk. That is not you being difficult or self-sabotaging for sport. There is a very real, very human reason why the thing you want most can simultaneously feel like the thing your nervous system most wants to avoid. And once you understand what is actually happening underneath that tension, you can start to do something about it. So let's get into it.
The Very Real Human Need to Be Wanted
Here is something worth saying out loud: wanting to be wanted is not a flaw in your character. It is not neediness, it is not weakness, and it is not something you should be quietly embarrassed about. It is a legitimate human need, and for some women it runs especially high. Think about it from the most basic angle possible. You are a baby. You are tiny and completely dependent on the world around you to survive. If someone wants you, you get fed, held, loved, and protected. Being wanted is literally wired into us as a survival mechanism from the very beginning of our lives. So when people throw around phrases like "you want too much" or "why do you need so much reassurance," you can feel free to mentally file that away as not your problem.
What gets complicated is what happens when being wanted has also historically meant being hurt. When the people who were supposed to want you also let you down, confused you, or made you feel like their love came with conditions attached, your nervous system does what it was designed to do. It starts connecting the experience of being wanted with the possibility of danger. And once that connection is made, you end up in this exhausting loop where you crave closeness and brace against it at exactly the same time.
The Identity Question Nobody Warned You About
So here is where it gets interesting. A lot of women who struggle with this pattern have also, somewhere along the way, lost track of who they actually are outside of how other people see them. (Which, when you say it out loud, sounds absolutely wild, and yet here we are.) The version of you that makes everyone laugh so they'll stick around. The version that molds herself into whatever the room seems to need. The version that has become so good at reading what other people want that she has quietly stopped asking what she wants.
Gabor Maté writes about this tension beautifully, describing how from the moment we are born, our authenticity is constantly being traded for attachment. If you grew up in an environment where being fully yourself felt risky, where expressing your real personality might have meant being rejected, criticized, or ousted from the group, then hiding yourself was not dysfunction. It was intelligence. It was how you stayed safe. The problem is that you are an adult now, and you are still running that same protection strategy with your friends, your partners, your coworkers, and frankly anyone with a pulse. And trying to be a different version of yourself for every single person in your life? That is exhausting on a cellular level.
The Root System: Building an Identity That Belongs to You
This is the part where things start to shift. If you cannot trust yourself in relationships, if other people's opinions of you carry more weight than your own, it is usually a sign that your sense of self does not yet have deep enough roots. And roots are exactly the right metaphor here, because a tree does not stay standing in a storm because it is rigid. It stays standing because its roots go wide, go deep, and go strong. Flexibility is actually a feature, not a weakness.
One of the most grounding practices you can try is what I call a roots visualization. Close your eyes and picture yourself as a tree. Now start building your root system with "I am" statements, things that feel genuinely true about you. I am strong. I am soft. I am funny. I am a loyal friend. Whatever it is, let each statement become a root growing down into the earth, anchoring you. Then, and this is the part that makes it stick, find one memory, one actual moment from your life that proves that statement true. Evidence matters here. Your brain is not going to believe an affirmation it has no receipts for. But the moment you attach a real memory to an "I am" statement, that root starts to hold.
What This Feels Like When You Actually Try It
The first time you sit with a roots visualization, you might feel a little silly. (This is normal. Just lean into the silliness. It passes.) What tends to happen next is that something unexpected comes up. You might find that the "I am" statements that feel easiest are also the most surprising, because they are not the polished, socially acceptable versions of yourself. I am soft. I am a little chaotic. I am someone who holds space for people in ways they do not always notice. These are the roots that actually matter, not the ones you perform for other people.
What you are building here is a sense of self that does not depend on external validation to stay standing. Bessel van der Kolk has written extensively about how the body keeps score of our experiences, and part of what that means is that identity work cannot only happen in your head. It has to be felt. The roots visualization works precisely because it invites your body into the process, not just your brain. You are not just thinking "I am strong." You are feeling it, remembering it, anchoring it somewhere real inside of you. That is a different experience entirely.
The Long Game: Maintenance vs. Triage
Here is something that does not get talked about enough. Healing is not a linear sprint to a finish line where you suddenly feel secure and nothing ever rattles you again. (I wish. Truly I do.) It is more like fitness. In the beginning, you are going to put in more effort. You are going to do the visualization every night, work through the somatic affirmation practice with real focus, find your evidence, build your roots intentionally. And then, over time, as those roots grow deeper, it becomes maintenance. A quick check-in before sleep. A grounding breath when something activates you. A return to your "I am" statements when someone says something that makes you wobble.
The wobbling, by the way, does not mean the roots failed. It just means the wind picked up. A tree that bends in the storm is not breaking, it is doing exactly what a healthy root system allows it to do. The goal is never to become unmovable. The goal is to trust that no matter what the wind does, you are not going anywhere. You know who you are. And when you know who you are, nobody else gets to decide that for you.
