The Day I Stopped Chasing Everyone Who Was Walking Away

The Day I Stopped Chasing Everyone Who Was Walking Away

By: Abdullah

I used to think love meant holding on to friends, to partners, to people who once made me feel safe. I believed that if I fought hard enough for someone, they would see my worth and stay. I’d send the extra text, make the surprise visits, bend my own needs until I was almost unrecognizable… just to keep someone from leaving.

And for a while, I convinced myself it worked. People stayed but not because they wanted to. They stayed because I made it easy for them to take and never give back.

The shift happened on an ordinary Tuesday. I was sitting in a small café near my apartment, nursing a cup of coffee that had gone cold. Across from me was a friend I’d known for years or at least, a version of her I used to know. Lately, our conversations had been short, polite, and empty. That day, she kept glancing at her phone, smiling at someone else’s messages, barely looking at me.

I laughed at her jokes, asked about her life, and waited for her to ask about mine. She never did. Somewhere between her third “Sorry, what were you saying?” and her fifth notification ping, I realized I was no longer a person in her life just background noise.

I walked home alone that afternoon, replaying the scene in my mind. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it the subtle, sinking knowledge that someone’s heart had already packed its bags and left. But usually, I would have sent a long text afterward: Hey, is everything okay? I feel like we’re drifting. I miss you.

This time, I didn’t.

I didn’t because something inside me was tired. Tired of being the one to close the gap. Tired of performing CPR on relationships that had died months ago. Tired of proving to people that I was worth staying for.

That night, I sat in bed scrolling through old photos friends I hadn’t spoken to in years, relationships that ended without explanation, people I had loved fiercely who had disappeared without a backward glance. In almost every case, I was the one who had reached out first. I was the one who had said, “Let’s fix this,” even when I hadn’t broken it.

The truth hit me like cold water: I had been mistaking persistence for love, and self-abandonment for loyalty.

The next morning, I made myself a promise I would stop chasing anyone who was walking away.

It sounded simple, but it wasn’t. The first test came sooner than I expected. An old friend I’d been trying to reconnect with for months still hadn’t replied to my messages. Normally, I would have sent another, something light and forgiving: Hey! Just checking in. Hope you’re well.

Instead, I put my phone down. I told myself, If they wanted to talk, they would.

The second test was harder. Someone I had been dating became distant, cancelling plans, taking hours to reply to a single text. My instinct was to ask if I’d done something wrong, to patch the cracks before they widened. But I remembered my promise. So I let the space grow. I didn’t chase. A week later, they ended it. It hurt but it hurt less than dragging myself through another month of trying to convince them I was enough.

And then something strange started to happen.

The more I stopped chasing, the more I noticed who was actually walking toward me. Friends who made time for me without me begging. People who asked how I was, without waiting for me to prompt them. Relationships that felt lighter because they weren’t being carried entirely on my back.

I started using my energy differently not on pulling people closer, but on building my own life so full that I didn’t need to beg for a seat at anyone else’s table. I read more. I learned to cook. I took myself on solo movie nights and didn’t feel embarrassed sitting alone. I even joined a hiking group, where I met people who didn’t require chasing they showed up, and they stayed.

One day, months later, the same friend from that café texted me out of the blue. She said she missed me and wanted to meet. I agreed, but this time I didn’t carry the weight of expectation. We had a pleasant conversation, but when I noticed her drifting back into the habit of half-listening, I didn’t take it personally. I knew where my worth was and it wasn’t in convincing her to see it.

I used to think losing people was a sign I wasn’t enough. Now I know that letting them go is a sign I finally understand that I am.

That was the day I stopped chasing everyone who was walking away. And strangely enough, that was the day I started finding the ones who were running toward me.