To the Girl I Was

I thought sex was the way to be valued

If I could talk to my younger self about my relationship with sex, I’d have to start by being real about how much I used it to try to fill gaps in my own self-worth. Back then, I thought sex was the way to be valued. I believed that being wanted in that way meant I was worthy of attention and, eventually, love. I didn’t understand the difference between the two or that real connection wasn’t something I could force by sharing my body.

There was one guy from college who always comes to mind when I think back on this part of my life. We met when we were both still figuring out who we were, acting like we knew more than we did. It started out lighthearted, the way things often do in college, and somehow, even after college, we kept coming back to each other. It was comfortable and easy, like muscle memory. I convinced myself that must mean something. I thought if I kept showing up, this undefined thing between us would naturally grow into a relationship. But it never did. For him, it was just physical, no strings attached, while I was there hoping it would become meaningful simply because I wanted it to be.

Looking back, I know now I was using sex to fill emotional gaps. For a while, it felt like power, a way to take control and shape my own experience. I convinced myself that I was choosing these situationships, exploring my sexuality on my terms, owning my choices, living without labels. It felt freeing in some ways, like I was connecting without the weight of expectations. But in the quiet moments, I still felt empty.

I kept telling myself that I was fine with casual connections, that I didn’t need anything deeper, that I was “in control.” But underneath it all, I was hoping someone would see past the physical and into the emotional. I thought that if I gave enough of myself, it would turn into a deeper kind of intimacy. I wanted to be known and cared for, not just physically, but emotionally. But I couldn’t admit that to myself back then. I was convinced that sex was the way to get what I wanted, that I could have both freedom and closeness if I just kept trying. What I didn’t see was that sex alone couldn’t fill those gaps.

The real problem is that I’d convinced myself that physical intimacy was as close as I’d get to real intimacy. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking that my worth was directly tied to how much I could give and that if I wasn’t “enough” to keep them around, then I had to be the problem. This belief shaped so much of my view of myself and made me accept situations that I didn’t actually want. It was like I was chasing the idea of being loved by giving everything away. And each time I did, it left me feeling emptier and further from the connection I truly craved.

It took time to reach a place where I could look back with compassion. I spent so many years thinking I was “failing” somehow. Falling short of love, not realizing that real love, real intimacy, isn’t about what you give but about how someone values you beyond that. Now, I know the person I was back then was just doing the best she could. She wanted to be seen, to be understood, and thought this was the way. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be lost in the search for self-worth, to make mistakes and learn as you go.

If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be that validation isn’t something anyone else can give you. True validation (the kind that gives you peace) comes from within, from valuing yourself enough to say no to the things that don’t serve you and yes to the things that nurture you. The love I deserved, the kind of connection I really craved, was never going to come from situations where I felt I had to give in order to be wanted.

I understand now that real intimacy isn’t just about sharing a bed. It’s about sharing who you are, in a way that’s vulnerable, seen, and deeply respected. It’s not about someone wanting your body; it’s about someone wanting you. Your heart, your mind, your quirks, your quiet fears. Real intimacy is the kind that leaves you feeling whole, not emptied out. And that’s what I’ve learned to value in myself and in the connections I seek now.

Today, I’m in a different place, where sex is no longer something I use to fill emotional voids. I don’t regret my experiences. They were part of my journey, and they helped me understand my needs and my worth in ways I might not have otherwise. But I’ve let go of thinking that sex alone can give me what I need, that it can be a shortcut to real intimacy or love. I’m done hoping for something meaningful to grow out of something that was never meant to be more than it was.

I wish I could tell my younger self that the love she deserved had nothing to do with her willingness to give herself away. That true intimacy, true love, is about someone who wants all of you, not just what you can give. And that’s where I am now. Real intimacy is about mutual understanding, respect, and a desire to be seen beyond the surface. Today, I know my worth isn’t something anyone else can define, and I’ve stopped waiting for validation from anyone else.

If you’re reading this and wondering if sex alone can turn into something real, I’d say this: you deserve a love that’s not transactional, that’s not just physical. You deserve someone who sees you, who values you, and who wants to be there for all the parts of you, not just the moments you’re willing to give.