Jul 28, 2025

✨ Love Is Everything (Even When We're Told It's Not)

I. When I Was Told Love Isn’t Everything

Years ago, someone I deeply respected said to me:
“Love is not everything.”

I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but my body knew better.
Something in me flinched.
I couldn’t explain it, but I could feel it—that deep, quiet ache that whispered:
No… that can’t be true.

That moment planted doubt where there had once been knowing.
I started second-guessing myself. Shrinking. Suppressing.
Trying to logic my way through what I felt in my bones.

But after all the unraveling, unlearning, and returning to myself—here’s what I know:
Love is everything.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it’s messy.
Even when it gets distorted, buried, or shamed.
Love is still there—waiting to be remembered.

II. The God I Know Is Love

I believe in God. Deeply.
But not the version I was taught to fear.

Not the one who only lived in buildings.
Not the one who needed me to be perfect, quiet, or small.
The God I know?
Is Love. Full stop.

My faith isn’t about performing or proving.
It’s rooted in connection.
In presence.
In the kind of Love that meets you in the dark and doesn’t rush you toward the light.

I don’t believe Jesus, Buddha, or Muhammad came to divide us.
I believe they came to remind us:
Love lives here—inside us.
In our breath. Our stillness. Our honesty.
Even in our most uncertain, unlovable-feeling moments.

III. The Part I Don’t Always Share

I’ve lived through grief that gutted me.
Loss that left no words.
I’ve lost two children.
I’ve lost myself.
I’ve had my heart broken in ways that reshaped me completely.

I’ve doubted. Hated. Blamed.
I’ve judged. Lied. Controlled what I couldn’t fix.
I’ve experienced abuse—emotional, physical, spiritual.
I’ve betrayed others. Betrayed myself.
I’ve lost faith. Lost people. Lost my sense of worth.

And still—something sacred whispered: Keep going.

Sometimes that voice sounded like crying in the back of a closet.
Sometimes it looked like taking long baths just to hide my tears.
But it was there.
This tiny flicker of knowing that I was meant to come home to myself.

I didn’t find healing in perfection.
I found it in the unraveling.
In the sitting. In the screaming. In the silence after.
I found it in the honesty I used to run from.

IV. The Path Back Is Through You

What no one tells you is this:
Self-love doesn’t come from repeating affirmations in the mirror.
It comes from undoing what made you believe you weren’t worthy in the first place.

It starts when you stop abandoning yourself.
When you ground. When you feel. When you tell yourself the truth.
And not just once—but over and over.

You can’t love yourself while lying to yourself.
You can’t heal while pretending everything is fine.
You have to unlearn the noise.
The people-pleasing. The perfectionism. The self-erasure.
That’s where love begins.

V. What Love Is (And What It’s Not)

Love isn’t passive.
It isn’t keeping the peace while your soul is unraveling.

Love is not self-abandonment dressed as grace.
It’s not silence to keep others comfortable.
It’s not carrying someone else’s healing as your responsibility.

Real love is truth.
It’s staying with yourself when it would be easier to run.
It’s setting boundaries without apology.
It’s saying the hard thing.
Walking away when you need to.
Holding compassion and accountability at the same time.

Love isn’t a performance.
It’s a return. A remembrance. A reckoning.

VI. Doing the Work Is Love

The real work? It’s not glamorous.
It’s daily. It’s deep. It’s honest.

Grounding? That’s love.
Feeling your feelings? Love.
Breaking the cycles you inherited? Love.
Saying no without guilt? Love.
Telling the truth to yourself? That’s love too.

We were taught that love should always be soft. Gentle. Agreeable.
But sometimes love is fierce.
Sometimes love says, “This ends with me.”
Sometimes love chooses peace over people-pleasing.

And the wild part?
You can do that without bitterness.
You can be real and rooted.
You can hold boundaries and hold your peace.

That’s not rebellion.
That’s alignment.
That’s maturity.
That’s love.

VII. Love Expands Us

The God I know doesn’t ask me to shrink.
Love doesn’t ask you to dim.
Love expands.

It holds your rage, your grief, your softness, your fear.
It holds your failures, your rebirths, your contradictions.
Love doesn’t erase the hard parts—it meets them with presence.

I don’t have it all figured out.
I’m still becoming.
But if you’re here, maybe you are too.

So let’s stop performing.
Let’s stop apologizing for being human.
Let’s stop waiting for permission to return to ourselves.

Let’s get real.
Let’s get honest.
Let’s choose Love—starting with ourselves.

May this space remind you:
Your story is sacred.
Your healing is holy.
And Love is still everything.

💬 Feel free to share your story—anonymously or not. Just be real. That’s what this space is for.
Thank you for being here. Truly.

🌿 Reflection Prompt
What have you been taught about love that you're ready to question?

Where in your life have you confused self-abandonment for love?

What does loving yourself—fully, truthfully, unapologetically—actually look like right now?

✍️ Journal it. Voice-note it. Speak it out loud. Or sit in stillness and feel it.
There’s no right way—only an honest one.
Let it rise. Let it breathe. Let it teach you.

💚 You are worthy of the kind of love that begins with you.