I Didn’t Know What He Meant—But Now I Do

(On Cherishing, the Cool Girl Lie, and What I Hope My Daughters Learn First)

My dad, walking me down the aisle at my rehearsal.

My dad once pulled me aside when I was dating my ex and said:

“I don’t think he loves you enough.”

And I brushed it off. I told him he didn’t understand. That he didn’t see what it was like when we were alone.

But he was right.

He saw something I didn’t want to see. Or couldn’t. And then he died before I could ever ask him what he meant. What he saw. What he wished for me.

I’ve thought about that moment more times than I can count, especially as I look back now at the men I’ve loved, the ones who tried and failed, and the ones who never really tried at all.

And lately, with tears running down my cheeks, I’ve finally put words to the thing I didn’t want to admit:

I have never been cherished in the way I needed.

What That Looked Like

My ex bought me things. Nice things. But we weren’t connected, not really. Not as good, true friends. He didn’t confide in me. Not in the way that creates intimacy—the quiet intimacy that says, “You’re my person.”

And I didn’t ask for more. I wore the title of “low maintenance” like a badge of honor. I didn’t say what I needed or felt. I wanted to be the Cool Girl. The easy one. The “Pick Me” girl—before we even had language for that.

And my dad? He saw something. At least a flicker of something. Enough to say that one thing. And yet not enough to press. To protect. To stop me. And maybe I’m mad about that too.

The Lie I Grew Up With

“Men only want one thing.”

It was stated as a fact. Baked into my childhood. Folded into what little sex education I got.

But beneath it was a deeper message—one I didn’t understand at the time:

“You’re not a person to be known. You’re an object to be wanted, protected, or claimed.”

And if that’s your starting point—if you grow up being taught to be desirable instead of being known—how would you ever learn what it feels like to be cherished?

How could you even know what to look for?

I didn’t. So I mistook being chosen for being valued.
I thought being wanted meant I was loved.
I thought affection meant intimacy.
I thought low-maintenance made me worthy.

And I accepted crumbs, thinking they were a feast.

What Cherishing Actually Looks Like

This, I think, is what my dad didn’t see—and what I didn’t know to name.

It’s not a vibe.
It’s not jewelry or flowers (though those can be lovely).
It’s not public declarations or being on your best behavior when others are watching.

Cherishing is a verb. A practice. A pattern.

It looks like:

• Listening when I speak—and remembering.

• Asking, “How can I support you?”—and meaning it.

• Protecting my peace, my time, my dreams.

• Checking in before hard days, not just reacting after.

• Uplifting me in rooms I’m not in—honoring who I am, even when no one’s watching.

• Respecting my inner world, especially when it’s inconvenient.

• Being proud of my growth, not threatened by it.

No one taught me what to look for in love.
I didn’t have a roadmap for emotional safety.
So how could I know what to expect—or what to ask for?

Cherishing is active. Intentional. Mutual. Safe.

It’s something I’ve seen other women receive.I didn’t know it was possible—until I saw it.
And I didn’t know I was missing it—until I finally named it.

What I Don’t Want My Daughters to Learn

Not the settling.
Not the shrinking.
Not the idea that being “easygoing” is what makes you lovable. Not the idea that affection in public equals intimacy in private. Not the habit of biting your tongue just to stay chosen.

I want them to know they deserve more. That being chosen isn’t the same as being cherished.

That “low maintenance” isn’t a personality type. It’s a survival strategy. And I want them to thrive.

What I’ll Say to Them Instead

You're not broken for wanting more. You're not too much. You're not hard to love.

You probably picked up a script that taught you to expect less.

But you don’t have to keep reading from it.

And you get to write a new one for yourself, and for those who come after you.

What I Want You to Know:

• You’re not here to be chosen. You get to choose, too.

• Mockery isn’t connection. Remembering what you care about is.

• It’s okay to show someone how to love you better, but if you’re the only one trying while they coast, that’s labor.

• Wanting sex doesn’t make you bad. Treating people like they’re disposable does.

• You’re not weak for having feelings. You’re dangerous without them.

• Being good at love means being good at listening.

• Pay attention to how you feel after you’re with someone. That’s your nervous system speaking to you.

• You’re allowed to want. And you’re allowed to walk away when you’re not met.

What I Wish I Could Tell My Dad

You were right. He didn’t love me enough.
But you should have said more.
I wish you had helped me see it then.

Still—I see it now. And I won’t pass this silence along.

If my daughter ever asks me what to look for in love, I won’t start with warnings about what men want.

I’ll tell her this:

“Love isn’t being wanted.
It’s being known.
And still chosen—over and over.”

I’m not sharing this because I need sympathy. I’m sharing it because I know I’m not the only one who’s lived by the wrong script.
And if this helps even one person stop settling, speak up, or walk away—then maybe that’s what my dad was trying to do for me.

And maybe now, I’m doing it for you.

xxoo

Lanae

P.S. I know this one was more personal than usual for a Friday afternoon. I don’t always write from this place, but today it asked to be written. Thanks for meeting me here.

Did this resonate? I’d love to hear your story—drop a comment or share this with someone who needs to hear it.