A blog post by Pepetoe, Elena Overfield

“You’ll have another boyfriend by next month.”

It’s become a bit of a running joke.

Every time a relationship ends, somebody in my life will laugh and tell me it won’t be long before I find my next “victim”. Yes, that’s genuinely what my friends and family call my boyfriends. It’s harmless. I laugh too. After all, they’re not wrong. Somehow, I seem to average about two relationships a year.

But recently, the joke has started to sting. Not because it’s cruel, but because it forced me to ask myself a question I’d been avoiding for a very long time: Why do I always feel like I need somebody?

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I Don’t Think I’m Addicted to Love

For a while, I thought maybe I was just one of those people who couldn’t be single. Maybe I was addicted to relationships. Maybe I just loved having a boyfriend. But after this most recent breakup, I’ve realised I don’t actually think that’s true.

Because when I strip it all back, I don’t think the boyfriend is the point. I think it’s what having a boyfriend represents:

Being chosen.

Being prioritised.

Being somebody’s favourite person.

Feeling wanted.

Feeling seen.

Feeling heard.

Feeling like somebody looked at all the people in the world and thought, “I choose you.”

And if I’m completely honest, I think I’ve spent most of my life chasing that feeling.

Maybe It Started Long Before Dating

I’ve lived with an eating disorder for years. People often think eating disorders are about food. They’re not. Not really. They’re about worth, control, perfection. Trying to become “good enough.”

For me, there has always been this underlying feeling that I need to earn my place. Earn love. Earn approval. Earn acceptance. As though simply existing isn’t enough. And I always thought my ED stemmed from being a high-achiever, but thinking about this now, it’s all starting to make sense, many years later on.

Recovery teaches you to nourish your body again. It teaches you how to challenge food rules. But what nobody tells you is that the voice underneath doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes it just changes costume.

Instead of saying, “You’ll be enough when you’re thinner.” It starts whispering, “You’ll be enough when somebody loves you.”

The question never changes. Only where you look for the answer.

Humans Are Wired For Connection

Before I go any further, I want to make something really clear. Humans are wired for connection. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting love. There is nothing weak about wanting companionship. Nothing embarrassing about wanting someone to choose you. Nothing unhealthy about craving intimacy, affection and partnership. We all do.

The problem isn’t wanting love. The problem is when love becomes proof that you’re worthy of receiving it. Because they’re two completely different things.

Why Breakups Hit Me So Hard

Of course breakups are painful. Nobody enjoys losing someone they care about. However, I’ve started wondering whether mine seem to affect me so deeply because I’m grieving more than just the relationship; I’m grieving certainty.

When you’re in a relationship, there’s structure. You know where you stand. There’s someone to text. Someone who checks you’ve got home safely. Someone making plans with you next weekend. Someone choosing you.

Then one day… they’re gone. And all of that certainty disappears. If you struggle with anxiety, that uncertainty is deafening.

Your brain fills in the blanks. Were they right to leave? Was I too much? Am I actually unlovable?

I’ve also realised that my eating disorder has a habit of creeping back into the room after heartbreak. Almost as if, when life feels uncertain, my brain reaches for the one coping mechanism it has known for years, control. If I can’t control whether somebody stays… maybe I can control my body.

It’s a pattern I’ve started to recognise. Not because relationships cause my eating disorder, but because losing certainty makes that old voice louder again.

Am I Actually Needy?

I’ve been called needy before… actually, by the majority of my boyfriends. And for a long time, I believed it. After this breakup, though, I’ve gone back through conversations in my own head.

What was I actually asking for? To know if plans had changed. To communicate. To feel prioritised. To feel like someone genuinely wanted to spend time with me. To not be left guessing.

And honestly? That’s not asking for too much. That’s asking for the bare minimum. In fact, if anything, I should probably have been asking for more.

What hurt wasn’t necessarily that those needs weren’t always met. It was feeling dismissed for having them in the first place. Being told, directly or indirectly, that my needs were “too much” made me question whether my emotions deserved space at all. It made me feel unseen. Unheard. Like I was difficult simply for wanting consistency.

And that’s exactly what my ED has taught me to feel for many years now.

Maybe It’s Not About The Relationship At All

One thing I’ve realised is that when somebody pulls away, I don’t just grieve them. I grieve the version of myself that existed when I felt chosen. Jeez, that’s a really difficult sentence to write, as it means my self-worth has become tangled up with somebody else’s ability to love me, – and that’s an impossible job to give another person.

No partner, friend, or family member can permanently silence your insecurities. No relationship can answer every question you’ve ever had about your worth.

Eventually life gets busy. People get stressed. Communication changes. Plans change. Then, if your confidence depends entirely on somebody else’s consistency, every small shift starts to feel like abandonment. Not because it is, but because your nervous system remembers what it feels like to lose safety.

Pain Explains Behaviour. It Doesn’t Excuse It.

Something else I’ve been reflecting on recently is how easy it is to take somebody else’s behaviour personally. When someone suddenly becomes distant or cold, we immediately ask ourselves,“What did I do?”

Sometimes, the answer is absolutely nothing. Maybe they’re struggling. Maybe they’re overwhelmed. Maybe they’re hurting. We’ve all had moments where we’ve snapped at someone after a bad day or withdrawn into ourselves because life felt too heavy. Pain can explain behaviour, but it doesn’t excuse it. The difference is what happens next.

Emotionally mature people (whatever the hell that really means) recognise when they’ve projected their pain onto someone else. They apologise. They explain. They communicate. If somebody repeatedly takes their pain out on you without acknowledging it, that says something. Not necessarily about your worth, but about where they are emotionally.

Understanding somebody doesn’t mean accepting behaviour that hurts you. Both things can be true at once.

So… Why Do I Always Need A Boyfriend?

Maybe I don’t. Maybe what I’ve been searching for all along isn’t a boyfriend. Maybe I’ve been searching for evidence that I’m enough, that I’m lovable, that I’m worth choosing.

If that’s true, then no relationship was ever going to fill that gap permanently, because eventually relationships become this sense of normal. Life happens. People disappoint each other. If someone else is carrying the weight of proving your worth every single day, it’s only a matter of time before it becomes too heavy – even if they don’t know it yet.

Learning To Choose Myself

I don’t have all the answers. I imagine I’ll probably fall in love again, even though at the same time the last thing I want right now is a relationship (but, then again, I’ve said this every time!). I’ll probably still get excited about first dates. I’ll probably still want someone to hold my hand.

Why? I’ll say it again. Humans are wired for connection. There is nothing wrong with wanting love. I’m starting to wonder whether the relationship I need to build most isn’t with somebody else. It’s with myself.

Maybe one day I won’t need another person to convince me I’m enough. Maybe I’ll already know. If someone chooses me after that? What a beautiful bonus. Not proof that I’m worthy. Just proof that two people found each other.

I think maybe that’s the kind of love I’ve been searching for all along.