Oh to Be Chosen

 I don’t consider myself religious anymore.

At least, not in the way people might expect.

There was a time when belief felt structured, defined—something I either fit into or drifted away from. And in many ways, I did drift. I questioned, I pulled back, I let go of things that no longer felt true to me.

But somewhere along the way—quietly, unexpectedly—something else found me.

Not rules.

Not obligation.

Not pressure to become someone else.

But a sense… that I am already chosen.

And I know how that sounds, especially to those who’ve perhaps taken a step back from me over time. Maybe it feels like I’ve changed in ways that are hard to understand. Maybe it feels like distance was necessary.

But the truth is, this hasn’t been about becoming more distant from myself.

It’s been the opposite.

It’s been about coming home.

---

Oh to be chosen—

not polished, not rehearsed,

not softened at the edges

to fit another’s comfort,

but as I am

in the quiet, unguarded truth of myself.

To be seen

beyond the careful architecture I’ve built—

the practiced smiles,

the edited stories,

the measured disclosures

that keep me just acceptable enough.

To be known

not as fragments,

but as a whole—

the contradictions I carry,

the tenderness I hide,

the longing that hums beneath everything.

Oh to be chosen

not in spite of my complexity,

but within it—

as if every layer,

every misstep,

every unfinished piece

were not something to forgive

but something to understand.

To stand still—

no adjusting, no shrinking, no performing—

and feel no need

to translate myself into something easier to love.

To be held

in the full weight of my truth,

where my failings do not disqualify me,

and my desires are not too much,

and my softness is not mistaken for weakness.

Oh to be chosen

without negotiation,

without the quiet bargain

of becoming less

in order to be enough.

To hear, in whatever form it comes:

you don’t need to change for me—

and believe it,

not as comfort,

but as fact.

And maybe, just maybe,

to learn in that moment

what it feels like

to stop choosing against myself

in the hope of being chosen by another.

Oh to be chosen—

fully, freely,

and without condition—

as I am.

---

What surprises me is this:

the more I’ve stopped trying to earn that kind of acceptance from others, the more I’ve felt it—already given.

Not because I’ve perfected myself.

Not because I’ve resolved every contradiction.

But right in the middle of it all.

There’s a line that’s stayed with me: "You did not choose me, but I chose you.”

And another: “You have searched me… and you know me.”

And even: “While we were still imperfect… we were loved.”

I don’t hold onto these as rules. I don’t use them to define anyone else’s path.

But for me, they feel like recognition.

Like something, somewhere, has already seen every layer I carry—the parts I show, the parts I hide, the parts I’m still figuring out—and has not turned away.

And that changes things.

It means I don’t have to shrink to be acceptable.

I don’t have to perform to be understood.

I don’t have to edit myself into something easier to hold.

It also means this:

I’m no longer willing to abandon myself just to belong.

---

If you’ve felt distance from me, I understand that.

Truly.

But this isn’t me moving away from truth.

This is me standing in it—more honestly than I have before.

I’m not asking you to agree with me.

I’m not asking you to see things the way I do.

I’m simply saying: this is where I stand now.

Grounded.

Certain in a quiet way.

And, for the first time in a long time… not trying to be chosen by becoming less of who I am.

Because somehow, in a way I can’t fully explain,

I’ve come to believe—

I already am.