How to Stop Feeling Insecure in a Relationship and Start Loving Yourself Again
Your chest does that thing again. You know the one—like someone’s sitting on your ribcage while you’re trying to breathe underwater. They just mentioned grabbing drinks with their coworker Sarah, and suddenly you’re drowning in your own kitchen.
Sarah. Pretty Sarah with the laugh that sounds like wind chimes.
You’re nodding like a bobblehead, saying “that sounds fun” while your brain’s already three steps ahead, writing novels about how Sarah probably doesn’t overthink every text message or apologize for taking up space in conversations.
Why do we do this to ourselves? When did we decide that love was supposed to feel like constantly auditioning for a role we already got?
And here’s the kicker—what if I told you that the voice whispering “you’re not enough” isn’t even yours? It’s borrowed. Secondhand. Like wearing someone else’s broken glasses and wondering why the world looks blurry.
“Let’s be real: insecurity doesn’t vanish like flipping a switch just because you read some advice (trust me, I’ve tested that theory). It’s closer to the tedious, baffling work of untangling fishing line on a scorching summer day. It feels counterproductive and messy, but you have to do it.”
But here’s what I know after years of feeling like I was too much and not enough simultaneously: You’re not broken. You’re just operating from old software that needs updating.
This isn’t about becoming a different person. It’s about remembering who you were before you learned to shrink.
Deep breath. You ready?
Part 1: The Insecurity Hamster Wheel (And Why We Keep Running)
“Insecurity is your brain’s overworked bouncer—the one who checks IDs three times and still thinks someone’s faking.
Text left on ‘read’ for 20 minutes? ‘Code red! Abort mission!’
They mention a coworker’s name twice? ‘Suspicious. File a report.’
Forgot to say ‘goodnight’ one time? ‘Case closed. They’re done with us.’And the worst part? You hired this maniac. You promoted them from ‘reasonable concern’ to ‘full-time emotional SWAT team.’
But here’s the secret: That bouncer’s terrified too. They’re not trying to ruin your love life—they’re trying to save you from a hurt they think is coming.
Try this tonight: When the mental alarms go off, ask: ‘Is this a real fire… or just the microwave beeping again?’”**
I once knew someone who said her insecurity felt like “love with a seatbelt always fastened”—never quite able to relax into the ride because she was constantly bracing for impact.
Here’s how it shows up in real life (and yeah, I’m calling myself out here):
- Screenshot-analyzing texts like you’re decoding ancient hieroglyphics
- That gut-punch feeling when they don’t immediately respond to your “good morning” text
- Memorizing their ex’s vacation photos better than your own childhood memories
- Apologizing for… existing? Having needs? Breathing too loudly?
- “Are you mad at me?” becoming your catchphrase
The thing is, this isn’t random. Your brain learned this somewhere.
Maybe your parents’ love felt like a pop quiz you never studied for. Maybe someone you trusted decided your heart was a temporary parking spot, not a permanent address. Maybe society convinced you that your worth comes with an expiration date.
But here’s what gets me—and I’m typing this with shaky hands because it still hurts to admit—we carry these wounds like they’re identity cards. Like “Hello, my name is Not Enough” is just… who we are.
Wait, no. That’s not quite it.
What I mean is… we mistake our survival strategies for our personality. That hypervigilance? It probably kept you safe once. That people-pleasing? It might’ve been the only way to get love as a kid.
Your nervous system isn’t broken. It’s just working with outdated information.
Part 2: When Love Becomes a Panic Room
“I just need to know now is do you still want me here.”
God, how many times have I said those words? Usually at 11:47 PM when my brain decides it’s the perfect time to inventory all the ways I might be failing as a partner.
The mental gymnastics are exhausting. Your thoughts become this echo chamber where every worry gets amplified until it sounds like truth. They seemed distant during dinner. Was it something I said? Did I chew too loudly? Am I being paranoid? But what if I’m not?
Sleep becomes this elusive thing because your brain won’t stop writing dissertations about fictional problems.
Meanwhile, your relationship starts feeling like walking on LEGO bricks barefoot. Every step could be the one that makes you scream.
A therapist once told me—and this hit different—that insecurity in relationships is like trying to love someone while wearing boxing gloves. You can’t quite feel what you’re touching, but you’re definitely leaving marks.
Your partner starts walking on eggshells, which makes you walk on eggshells about their eggshell-walking, and suddenly nobody’s just… existing. Everyone’s performing.
“You’re being insecure again,” they might say, and it lands like a diagnosis. Like insecurity is something you caught, not something that grew from very real experiences of not being safe in love.
“Your insecurity isn’t brokenness – it’s the echo of old wounds humming beneath your skin, a folk song of survival you can’t stop singing.”
Part 3: Rewiring Your Love Operating System
Step 1: Become a Thought Detective (Not a Thought Judge)
Why does your stomach drop when they don’t text back within two hours? I’m not sure why, but there’s something about that specific timeframe that triggers our “they must be planning their escape” alarm.
Next time it happens, try this weird little exercise: pretend you’re David Attenborough narrating your own thoughts.
“Here we see the anxious human in their natural habitat, crafting elaborate stories about text response times. Fascinating.”
I know it sounds ridiculous, but humor creates distance. And distance creates choice.
Try this: Keep a “thought journal” but make it weird. Write your insecure thoughts in different fonts, colors, or even as haikus. The goal isn’t to stop having the thoughts—it’s to stop taking them so seriously.
Relationship haiku:
They didn’t laugh at
my joke—clearly they hate me
and plan to leave soon
Step 2: Learn the Difference Between Needs and Neediness
Instead of: “Why didn’t you text me back?!” (Translation: You’re responsible for my anxiety)
Try: “I felt anxious when I didn’t hear from you, and I know that’s my stuff to work on.” (Translation: I’m owning my experience)
This isn’t about becoming a perfectly composed human who never has feelings. It’s about… hmm, how do I explain this?
It’s like the difference between “my stomach hurts, fix it” and “my stomach hurts, can you hold my hand while I figure out what I ate?”
One makes your partner your emotional mechanic. The other makes them your teammate.
Real talk moment: I used to think asking for reassurance made me weak. Then I realized the difference between “I need you to convince me I’m lovable” and “I’m feeling wobbly today, can you remind me we’re okay?”
One is a demand. The other is… vulnerability with boundaries.
Step 3: Rewrite Your Internal Commentary
That voice that says you’re too much? It’s not the voice of wisdom. It’s the voice of whoever taught you that love was conditional.
But then again, maybe it’s not even about rewriting. Maybe it’s about… adding new voices to the mix?
“Sweetheart, come sit. All this weight you’re carrying about ‘getting it wrong’… from here, it looks so light. Time smooths the sharp edges of fear. What I remember most clearly isn’t the stumbles or the rejections – it’s the warmth of connection, the courage it took to be vulnerable, the moments I chose love over armor. Don’t waste these vibrant years paralyzed by ‘what ifs’. Not every risk works out, but never risking guarantees loneliness. The pain of regret lasts far longer than the pain of a bruised heart. Let people see you – the messy, hopeful, imperfect you. That’s where the real magic happens. Stop guarding an empty fortress.”
“Dear Jamie, It’s me, Alex. Saw you beating yourself up again today for stumbling during that presentation. I need you to hear this: What I saw was someone brave enough to show up and try something hard. I saw your hands shake, and I saw you take a breath and keep going. That’s not weakness, that’s courage wearing a shaky disguise. Your fear of being ‘exposed’? It comes from your deep desire to do good work and connect – qualities I deeply admire. You are so much more resilient than your inner critic gives you credit for. You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of respect, my friend. Not even close. Let that messy, trying, caring heart of yours off the hook sometimes. I’m always in your corner. Love, Alex.”
Wait, that’s not quite it either.
What I mean is—write it like you’re writing to someone you adore who’s going through exactly what you’re going through.
Step 4: Set Boundaries with Your Own Brain
This might sound bonkers, but you can literally schedule worry time. Tell your anxiety, “Thanks for the concern, but we’re doing relationship panic from 7-7:15 PM today. Right now we’re making breakfast.”
I learned this from someone who said her therapist suggested treating anxious thoughts like a toddler having a tantrum—acknowledge them, but don’t let them drive the car.
Boundary examples that changed my life:
- No relationship analysis after 9 PM (nothing good happens in the anxiety witching hour)
- One reassurance request per issue (after that, it’s my job to self-soothe)
- No checking their social media when I’m already feeling wobbly
My dog just barked at absolutely nothing—sorry, where was I?
Oh right. Boundaries aren’t about becoming emotionally unavailable. They’re about creating space for love to exist without supervision.
Part 4: Remembering You Were Whole Before You Were Half of Something
Self-love. Ugh, I used to hate that phrase. It sounded so… Instagram-y. Like it meant buying yourself flowers and taking bubble baths while chanting affirmations.
But real self-love is grittier than that. It’s choosing yourself even when it’s inconvenient. It’s forgiving yourself for being human in a world that profits from your self-doubt.
I remember this one night—I was spiraling about something completely ridiculous (I think it was because my partner didn’t laugh at my joke the “right” way)—and I just… stopped. Put my phone in another room and took myself on a date.
To Target. At 9 PM. On a Tuesday.
I walked around buying random stuff I didn’t need, talking to myself like I was my own best friend. “Ooh, you’d look cute in this.” “You deserve the good shampoo.” “Remember when you used to love picking out notebooks?”
For forty-three minutes, I felt like myself again. Not half of a couple. Not someone’s maybe-girlfriend. Just… me.
Daily practices that don’t involve crystals:
- Morning check-ins: “What do you need today, love?”
- Celebrating small wins (made coffee without burning it? Victory!)
- Saying no to energy vampires, yes to things that make you feel alive
- Forgiving yourself for yesterday’s mistakes before you’ve even had breakfast
Self-love isn’t earned through perfect behavior. It’s remembered. Like muscle memory for your soul.
Part 5: Building Love That Doesn’t Require Armor
Here’s what nobody tells you about healthy relationships: they’re kinda boring sometimes. In the best way.
When you’re secure in your own worth, you don’t need your partner to be your constant validation machine. You can appreciate their love without needing it to survive every moment of every day.
Two whole people loving each other looks different than two halves trying to complete each other. It’s less “you complete me” and more “you complement me.”
Think of it like… dancing. When both people know the steps, you can move together without stepping on each other’s toes every five seconds.
But then again, maybe the metaphor breaks down because relationships aren’t performances. They’re more like… shared gardens? Where you both tend to your own growth while enjoying the beauty of growing together?
I’m not sure why I’m so into metaphors today, but work with me here.
If your relationship insecurity feels too big to handle alone—and listen, there’s no shame in this—therapy isn’t admitting defeat. It’s upgrading your emotional toolkit with professional help.
Sometimes we need someone who’s not emotionally invested in our story to help us see the patterns we can’t see from inside them.
Conclusion: You Were Never Too Much
Insecurity isn’t a character defect. It’s just old fears wearing new clothes, trying to protect you from hurt that might not even be coming.
You are not too much. You never were. You were just loving people who couldn’t hold all of you, and somehow you decided the problem was your size, not their capacity.
Your sensitivity isn’t a bug—it’s a feature. Your need for reassurance isn’t weakness—it’s your heart asking to feel safe. Your fear of abandonment isn’t paranoia—it’s a reasonable response to a world that taught you people leave.
Actually, wait. Let me try that again.
You’re not broken, and you don’t need fixing. You need remembering. Remembering that you were whole before you learned to question your worth. Remembering that love isn’t supposed to feel like an anxiety attack with benefits.
One last thing to try: Write this down somewhere you’ll see it tomorrow morning:
“I am learning to feel safe in love, even when love feels uncertain. Today, I choose myself by…”
Fill in the blank. Practice it. Believe it, even if it’s just for five minutes.
And hey—if you’re reading this at 2 AM because your brain won’t stop spinning relationship scenarios, you’re not alone. We’ve all been there, scrolling for answers to questions our hearts are asking.
What’s one small way you’re choosing yourself today? Drop it in the comments—sometimes the most radical thing we can do is admit we’re all just figuring it out as we go.
The typing this with slightly cold coffee and the sound of rain outside my window. Somehow that feels important to mention.
Love doesn’t have to hurt this much. You don’t have to earn it by being perfect.
You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to have needs. You’re allowed to feel safe.
Start there.