There’s a distinct beauty in meeting a stranger and feeling an instant connection, as if you’ve known them your entire life. This happened to me a few months ago, when I met a girl the same age as me, and we clicked instantly. You know that feeling when the conversation flows so naturally, you don’t even have to think about what to say? That’s how it was with her. Sometimes we would meet up early in the morning and spend an entire day together, sitting in a quiet corner of St Stephen’s Green Park under the springtime sun, talking about everything from fashion and awkward dating stories to our favourite books and deepest vulnerabilities. Our conversations ran like water over smooth stones, the laughter was unforced, and everything felt so incredibly natural and familiar that we never felt the time passing us by. It truly felt like I was reconnecting with a friend I’d known forever.
Naturally, as our friendship developed, we began texting regularly: planning meetups, sharing funny memes, or sending little check-in messages throughout the week. I’ve always been an expressive communicator. I tend to send texts in bursts of energy, record sporadic voice notes, and write paragraphs where others might write a single word. I try to be as authentic as possible, especially when I’m getting to know someone, because if they are going to like me, I want them to like me for who I am, not some edited version of myself. For a while, it felt mutual. We both seemed to move in rhythm, energized by the possibility of this exciting new friendship. However, this didn’t last long.
Shortly after, as often happens, the pace shifted. The texts slowed down. Not in a “Hey, I’m busy but I’ll get back to you” way, but in a cooler, shorter, more distant kind of way. And yet, I kept showing up with the same enthusiasm. That’s when the old familiar thought crept in: Am I being too much?
It’s a question that seems to parade through my mind weekly. Too talkative. Too eager. Too emotional. Too honest. Too available. The idea that being fully yourself, that being expressive, invested, excited, and ready for connection, could somehow make you “too much” for someone else is a quiet fear that I think many of us carry.
We live in a culture where emotional nonchalance has become some kind of social currency. You don’t have to scroll very far on social media to see the endless parade of people posing as “chill”, mysterious, and unbothered. We’ve started to romanticize low effort connections and pride ourselves on not caring too much about people, about plans, about outcomes. It’s so apparent in so many aspects of life, especially as a young adult; in dating culture, where double-texting makes you look desperate; in friendships, where initiating plans too often will make you look needy and clingy; even in workplace interactions, where being too enthusiastic is seen as unprofessional or naive.
I’ve pondered this a lot over the years. Somewhere along the way, it seems that we all learned that caring openly is a kind of vulnerability we can’t afford. So we ration our affection. We tone down our enthusiasm not to scare people away. We disengage to protect ourselves from the pain of past relationships. We learned that to be wanted, we must first appear not to enjoy. It’s become a performance; the less we seem to care, the more valuable we appear. Ghosting is easier than communicating. Casual is safer than committed. But underneath it all is a quiet longing that permeates, no matter what the unbothered façade tries to portray.
It’s almost laughable how we all crave connections, yet so few of us want to be seen trying. We are living through a “friendship recession”, defined by loneliness and a disconnection between not just the quantity, but also the quality of friendships. And this recession is not confined to just friendships: romantic relationships are feeling it too.
Unfortunately, we seem to have forgotten that connections take time and effort to grow. If I wanted a garden full of lilies, I wouldn’t just plant the bulbs and hope they grow themselves. They’d need watering, sunlight, patience, and care. Relationships are exactly the same. They need love, attention, and nurturing if we want them to bloom. And yet we hesitate, not wanting to be viewed as too intense or too direct.
The truth is, the indifference we see everywhere is often just fear in disguise. We are all scared because the idea of “wanting” is inherently vulnerable. Caring first, showing interest, admitting you like someone, all of that carries the risk of rejection. Nonchalance, on the other hand, feels safe. If you never put much on the line, you can’t lose much either. In many ways, this “too much” narrative is the emotional equivalent of playing chicken. Everyone’s waiting for the other person to blink first. To admit they care, to send the first text, to ask to hang out. It’s a terrible paradox: we all want connection but are terrified to be the one to reach for it.
But what if it didn’t have to be that way?
Dimming your light, extinguishing your personality, apologizing for your emotional vulnerability: none of that will bring you the kind of relationships you truly want. Being guarded, inauthentic, and fearful doesn’t protect you; it robs the world of your genuine self.
I implore you to be open. Admit you care. Say, “Yes, I do want to see you.” Say, “Yes, I do enjoy talking to you.” Say, “Yes, I do want us to spend more time together.” Reclaim being “too much,” because it just means that you care. Maybe you’re a bit weird and wacky and wonderful, but your “too much” is just enough for the right people. There are others craving authenticity, who won’t flinch at your enthusiasm, who won’t make you feel like your love is an inconvenience.
And if you come across the ones who can’t handle your depth? They’re not villains. They’re just not ready for the technicolour soul you carry inside you. Eventually, they might come to see that being lively, open and eager isn’t a flaw. It’s a strength that a lot of people wish they carried. It takes courage to choose to be seen in a world that teaches us to hide. But if we all dare to take a step in that direction, I think that life would be a lot more beautiful.
Because in the end, I think I would pick being real over being cool. Being warm over being distant.Being too much over being nothing at all.