I've never thought of myself as someone who has high expectations. However, I do have high standards.

There's a difference.

I'm not walking around, expecting people to hold doors open for me and bow as I enter.

Nor do I expect someone I'm dating to buy me twelve dozen roses every Saturday "just because."

But I do expect to be treated right.

I will not accept anything less than 100-percent honesty, loyalty, good intent and love.

And if you think that's me asking too much, that only means you're not the one for me.

But that's where things got sticky.

I've met more boys who have thought I was asking for too much, instead of realizing that what I was asking for was simply the correct way to treat another human being — especially one you saw a future with.

All too often, I was being told my standards were unachievable, and instead of realizing that person was too lazy to love me the right way, I started letting things fall to the wayside.

I let go of some really important qualities and characteristics that I looked for in a person. I allowed myself to be treated in ways I always swore I wouldn't stand for. But most importantly, I stopped putting myself first.

"My standards" started being set by what the person was willing to offer, rather than what I genuinely sought after.

Soon, I didn't even know what it was I wanted in a relationship anymore.

What once had been so black and white was now a big, messy, gray blob.

I was getting so frustrated with the people in my life because I always felt cheated of the treatment I should've been receiving.

Like one of those rigged carnival games where you pop the balloons to see what size prize you get and you swear every balloon has a "small prize" tag beneath it.

That was what my life was becoming: small prize after small prize, no matter how much money I paid the game operator.

When I expressed this to others, though, they would get angry. They didn't understand how I could possibly want more, because to them, they were giving me exactly what I wanted.

I had allowed them to believe what they were doing for me was sufficient instead of really speaking my mind. I stayed quiet for fear of hurting their feelings or scaring them off, and it came back to bite me in the butt — hard.

I did this for years.

I let people walk in and out of my life, giving me the bare minimum and thanking them for it.

Until finally, I had had enough.

I stopped allowing other people to run an auction for my attention, selling off to the highest of the low ballers. I realized my worth, and I set my bar where it should be rightfully placed.

And I noticed how quickly the line dwindled down to a few remaining people who knew my worth all along.

Only now, I'm faced with an issue.

Some of the people who abandoned me when the bar was set somewhere they didn't care to even extend an arm to reach genuinely hurt me. I was surprised that they just up and left without a second glance.

It made me afraid to ask others for what I know I'm worth. I still find myself brushing things under the rug that I know will become a serious tripping hazard, but sometimes I can't help it.

I'm so afraid of discovering other people's true intentions when they no longer think things are so easy. I'm scared that if someone associates our relationship with effort, it'll be all too easy to just throw it all away.

I spent too long letting too many hands pull on my bar, until it was so low that people were walking all over me instead of pursuing me as the trophy that I am.

Now I'm trying to treat myself the way I deserved to be treated this whole time. And I'm realizing just how little people are willing to see you for your true worth.