Why Do I Chase Men Like They’re the Last Bus—and Then Jump Off When It Stops?

By Trinity Barnette

(An Intimacy Issue. A Red Flag. Or Just the Plot of My Life.)

There’s a specific type of romantic chaos I’ve mastered.

I will chase a man like it’s a full-time job. I will study his Instagram, overanalyze our text exchanges, romanticize every ounce of attention he gives me—even if it’s just a heart emoji on a story. I will spiral with hope. I will daydream. I will manifest. I will basically fall in love with the idea of being chosen by him.

And then?

The minute he starts showing real interest?

The minute he’s consistent?

The minute he actually likes me back?

Suddenly… I’m bored. Uncomfortable. Looking for the nearest exit like I wasn’t just sprinting after this man like he was the last Uber out of hell.

So what is this exactly? A fear of intimacy? Am I emotionally unavailable? Is it self-sabotage with glitter on top? Or is this just what happens when you’ve only ever felt powerful when you’re the one doing the chasing?

Let’s unpack it. And yes—I’m judging myself with love.

The Thrill of the Chase—And Why I Romanticize Being Ignored

There is something unexplainably hot about a man who doesn’t give a damn about me. Not in a toxic way… okay, yes, in a toxic way.

If he leaves me on read? I’m intrigued.

If he’s emotionally distant, unavailable, and just mysterious enough to leave me confused?

I’m planning our future dates on my Notion app.

Why?

Because somewhere deep in my twisted brain, I’ve confused attention earned with attention deserved. If I have to work for it, it must mean I’m worth it. If he doesn’t want me at first but eventually folds under the weight of my charm, that must mean I’m lovable, right?

Wrong. But the delusion is delicious.

The chase gives me a purpose. It gives me control.

It gives me something to obsess over, overanalyze, and romanticize.

I’m not in love with him—I’m in love with proving to myself that I can win him.

Because if I can win over the emotionally detached man with commitment issues, then maybe I’ve healed. Maybe I’m enough. Maybe I’ve finally “made it” as desirable.

But once he likes me?

Once he sends good morning texts and wants to FaceTime and opens up emotionally?

I’m suddenly scrolling away. Recoiling. Over it.

Like—sir, why are you breathing near me?

The thrill is gone.

The chase is over.

And I’m already emotionally moved out.

So… Is It Intimacy Issues or Just Audacity?

Let’s be real: it’s probably both.

Because if we’re being honest, the second a man gets emotionally available, I get… itchy. Like my nervous system goes into full-blown retreat mode. This man wants to see me regularly? Compliment me? Ask follow-up questions about my day?

Suddenly I’m busy. Suddenly I need space. Suddenly I’m wondering if I was ever really attracted to him or if it was just the idea of the unattainable.

This is where the fear of intimacy creeps in wearing heels and a cute coat:

What if he sees me and doesn’t like what he finds?

What if now that I’ve gotten his attention, I have to maintain it?

What if I let someone close enough to actually… love me?

No thank you. I’d rather romanticize a situationship that lives entirely in my head and ends before I have to be vulnerable.

But also? Sometimes it’s not even that deep.

Sometimes I’m just bored. Sometimes I wanted the validation, not the man.

Sometimes it’s just audacity and a sprinkle of unprocessed ego damage.

Either way—it leaves a pattern.

One where I convince myself I want love, chase men who can’t give it, and then ghost the ones who try.

Because deep down, I think I’m scared of what real love actually requires:

• Patience

• Openness

• Sitting still long enough to be seen …and not immediately running the second someone says, “I like you too.”

Do I Like Him, or Do I Just Want Him to Like Me?

This is the eternal question. A philosophical dilemma. A spiritual inquiry.

Because 9 times out of 10? I don’t even like him.

I just want him to like me.

I want to feel chosen. Wanted. Validated. Romanticized.

I want the tension of wondering if he’ll text back. I want to analyze his response with my group chat. I want to earn a man’s affection like it’s a prize I unlock by being cool, pretty, or just unavailable enough to keep him guessing.

But once he shows interest? Once I’m actually liked back?

I start overthinking.

Picking apart his emojis.

Cringing at his voice memos.

Replaying the words “I miss you” like they’re a threat.

It’s not that I wanted him—I wanted the high of being desired.

Which, in its own way, is addicting. But also? Exhausting.

If You Give Me a Little Too Much Attention, I’ll Block You Spiritually

Not physically. Not verbally. Spiritually.

Like I will energetically detach without warning.

I’ll start responding slower. I’ll roll my eyes at every “good morning” text.

I’ll begin resenting him for being too available, too interested, too… nice.

It’s a toxic trait, I admit it. But I have a theory:

The people who gave me the least growing up, trained me to find comfort in confusion.

So now? Clarity feels suspicious.

Affection feels unsafe.

Consistency feels performative.

When someone starts showing up too well, I assume they’ll switch up.

So I preemptively detach—before they have the chance to prove me right.

I Kept Repeating the Pattern—Until I Realized I Do Better Fantasizing

That’s the truth of it.

I’ve played out this pattern so many times I could write the script in my sleep:

• Obsess over the uninterested man.

• Fantasize about what it could be if he just gave me a little more.

• Eventually get bored when he does.

• Feel guilty for losing interest.

• Repeat.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized… I don’t actually want the real thing.

I do better in my head. In my daydreams. In the safety of fantasy.

Where I can script every interaction, protect my peace, and still feel adored—without the mess of vulnerability.

Because IRL?

Getting emotionally and mentally invested means risking disappointment, not just rejection. It means letting someone see me without the filter of control. And that’s terrifying.

So yeah. Maybe I’m not emotionally unavailable.

Maybe I’m just emotionally imaginative.

(Or maybe I’m both.)

I’m Married to My Work—and That’s How I Avoid Catching Feelings

These days, I don’t spiral over a man.

I spiral over deadlines. Over content ideas. Over my next blog post, photo drop, merch launch, and every unpaid emotional invoice I turn into a brand.

I don’t wait on texts—I wait on inspiration.

I don’t chase men—I chase goals.

And honestly? That’s by design.

Because somewhere along the way, I realized that being busy is the perfect alibi for emotional detachment. If I stay working, stay creating, stay building—I don’t have to feel anything too deeply. I don’t have to sit in the discomfort of someone liking me too much or leaving me too fast.

And yeah, maybe it’s not the healthiest thing in the world.

Maybe it’s another form of avoidance.

Maybe I’m burning myself out so I don’t have time to be heartbroken.

But at least my heartbreak has a business plan now.

At least I cry in Google Docs and monetize the healing.

At least the love I pour out always has a home—in my work, in my writing, in myself.

So no, I’m not emotionally unavailable.

I’m emotionally redirected.

Because right now, my loyalty belongs to my future. And the only man I’m chasing is the version of me who never settled for crumbs again.

I’m Not Perfect—But I’m Growing Every Day

I’ll be the first to admit it: I’ve got work to do.

I’m still unlearning things I didn’t choose. Still healing from things I didn’t deserve. Still figuring out how to let people in without losing myself in the process.

I know I chase the wrong people sometimes.

I know I confuse effort with obsession.

I know I run from real love and sprint toward emotional confusion like it’s cardio.

But I also know I’m trying.

Trying to slow down.

Trying to stay present.

Trying to believe that I don’t have to earn love by performing, proving, or pretending.

It’s easy to joke about being emotionally unavailable.

It’s harder to admit I’m just scared of being deeply known and not being enough.

So no—I’m not perfect. I still spiral. I still self-sabotage. I still ghost men who text back too fast.

But I’m also learning.

Softening.

Healing.

And trusting that one day, I’ll be ready to stop chasing and start receiving the kind of love that doesn’t require a chase at all.

Until then? I’ll keep choosing myself.