Chasing Dopamine - In Realtime

Lately, I’ve been hyper-aware of how much my brain craves the dopamine hit of anticipation—especially when it comes to certain people. Right now, I find myself fixated on a text I sent this morning, waiting for a response that hasn’t come yet. Logically, I know it’s only been a few hours. I know he has his own life, his own plans, and that he tends to get introverted. I know he hasn’t rejected me. And yet, every time my phone buzzes and it’s not him, I feel that twinge of disappointment.

This is the dopamine chase in action.

Dopamine isn’t just about pleasure; it’s about anticipation—the craving, the buildup, the endless loop of checking and waiting. The reward isn’t even necessarily the message itself but the relief of getting it. And right now, my brain is stuck in the craving stage, constantly looking for that next hit.

But beneath the surface of this craving lies something deeper—the need for validation, for belonging, for connection, for the reassurance that I matter. This isn’t just about a text message. It’s about what that response represents: being wanted, being thought of, being chosen. It’s the same pull that has led me to chase new hobbies, impulsively plan trips, refresh an app over and over, seeking that rush of acknowledgment or excitement.

The problem is, when I place my sense of worth in the hands of someone else’s response—or lack thereof—I give away my power. And when that external validation doesn’t come immediately, the crash happens: the restlessness, the overanalyzing, the creeping insecurity. I start to question myself when, in reality, nothing has actually changed except my brain’s interpretation of the silence.

So what do I do with this awareness? How do I break free from the endless cycle of seeking reassurance outside of myself?

Maybe the first step is exactly this—naming it, calling it what it is. Recognizing that my worth is not determined by a text message, a notification, or someone else's availability. Maybe it’s about learning to self-soothe, to sit with discomfort, to remind myself that I am already enough.

And maybe it’s about choosing to find that dopamine hit in something more sustainable—writing, movement, meaningful engagement with the world around me. Because the real connection I’m craving isn’t just with another person; it’s with myself.

Update:

Last night, however, I experienced a shift. I initially planned to leave the ball in his court, focusing on my own plans for the day. But when he texted me first, it felt good—like a little surge of dopamine. I let myself enjoy it but didn’t let it consume me. Instead, I went about my day, went downtown for my event, and focused on myself. Seeing him, spending time together, and sharing a moment of real connection helped me move past the lingering self-doubt that had been nagging at me.

He not only stayed with me through the event but also got comfortable in his own way, capturing the experience through photography—something he loves. It left me feeling calm rather than craving more. I realized that by having something of my own—something that brought me joy independently, like my run—I was able to balance the dopamine chase. The usual cycle of anticipation and crash didn’t hit as hard because I wasn’t relying solely on external validation. The internal fulfillment from my own experiences helped temper the comedown, allowing me to feel content rather than restless. So instead of letting this cycle control me, I’m choosing to redirect. To channel this awareness into something productive, like writing this post. To remind myself that I am whole, whether or not a message comes through. And to recognize that the dopamine chase is just that—a chase, not a destination. The question I’m left with is: how do I shift from craving external validation to finding that sense of fulfillment within myself? I don’t have all the answers, but maybe the first step is simply recognizing the pattern and choosing, little by little, to step out of it. And maybe the second step is making sure I always have something for myself—something that fills my cup without needing someone else to pour into it.