I used to live with anxiety in many relationships. Not loud, not hysterical, but quiet and constant. The kind that whispers: if you relax, they'll forget you. If you show your temper, they'll find someone more convenient. If you grow old, get tired, become difficult, they'll replace you with someone else.

Because of this anxiety, I tried to be the ideal version of myself. Understanding. Beautiful. Easy-going. Not too demanding. Always in a good mood. I thought love needed to be maintained through helpfulness and proper behavior.

I compared myself to other women more often than I even admitted to myself. Some were younger, brighter, calmer, more successful. Social media only added fuel to the fire: beautiful couples everywhere, perfect faces, an ease that almost never exists in real life.

The most unpleasant thing about this state is that you cease to be yourself. Instead of a living person, you become a project to hold someone else's attention. You monitor every word, every reaction, every pause in a conversation, who liked whom.

The turning point came after a painful breakup. For a long time, I blamed myself: I didn't give enough, I didn't endure enough, I wasn't good enough. And then, for the first time, I looked at the situation honestly and realized that people don't always leave because someone else is better. Sometimes they simply don't know how to love deeply. Sometimes they're not ready. Sometimes they want a different path. And this isn't a condemnation of your worth.

This thought was liberating.

Now I no longer want to compete with other women for the right to be chosen. The person who needs you isn't endlessly searching for a replacement. And if they are, it's not about you.

I stopped living with the feeling that I can be easily changed, like an object. Because a relationship isn't a casting call. It's a choice between two people who want to be together.