LOVE…?

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For a long time, I wasn’t sure I truly understood what love was. I questioned myself constantly, wondering if I was broken or if there was something missing in the way I connected with others. Love felt elusive—something I was supposed to feel but couldn't quite grasp. It seemed like I was always chasing an ideal, never really settling into the certainty of what love actually meant.

It wasn’t until I lost my mother that the weight of what love truly is hit me. In her absence, I realized that all I ever do is love, even when I didn’t fully understand it. The grief of losing her opened a door to an understanding that had been dormant within me for years. Her love was constant, steady, and unwavering—even when life around us was anything but. And when she was gone, I finally understood that the love she had shown me all along was the kind I had always longed to give, yet hadn’t recognized in myself.

Losing her shifted something deep within me. It gave me a new lens through which I see love: as something fragile and precious, something that can be taken away without warning. That realization made me love harder. I became more intentional, more present, and more open with my feelings—because now I know that no love is guaranteed to last forever. The people we care about, the moments we cherish, they are all temporary, and that awareness drives me to hold on more fiercely.

But what surprised me most was how my understanding of love expanded. It wasn’t just about romantic love or familial love anymore. It became about how I show up for others—whether they reciprocate that love or not. I embraced the idea of unrequited love, not in the sense of feeling unworthy or rejected, but in realizing that loving without expecting anything in return is still an expression of my deepest self. It stinks when people use your love for them against you much like the end result of a quid pro quo exchange, like if you do this for me I’ll show you appreciation and make you feel like I actually care about you.

There were many times when I wondered if this kinda thinking meant something was wrong with me—why did I keep giving my heart away, even when it wasn’t returned? Was I just desperate for connection, or was I missing something? But with time, I began to see that the way I love is part of who I am. It doesn’t make me broken. It makes me human.

I’ve come to embrace the idea that love isn’t transactional. It’s not something you give to receive; it’s something you give because it’s a reflection of your soul. That realization allowed me to stop measuring love by the responses I received from others and start valuing it by the authenticity of what I offered. I began to see love in all its forms—as compassion, kindness, patience, and even in moments of silence and distance.

Loving without expectation and loving even when it hurts—that’s where I found my true strength. The loss of my mother made me realize that love doesn’t fade away with loss; it transforms. The people we love become part of us, shaping who we are long after they’re gone. And in that sense, love is eternal.

Now, every time I love, I know it’s an act of courage. Loving harder, loving without guarantees, loving even when I know I may lose someone again—it’s the only way I know how to live authentically. I’ve learned that love isn’t about holding onto something or someone, but about embracing the gift of what they bring to your life, no matter how fleeting.

In the end, I’ve found that love is not about certainty, nor is it about being loved back. It’s about the way you open yourself up to the world and give the best parts of yourself, knowing full well that it might not last. But that's okay—because to love fully is to truly live.

Losing my mother taught me this: love is what defines us, shapes us, and ultimately, carries us through every loss, every heartbreak, and every moment of joy. It’s not about being broken or whole. It’s about giving yourself permission to love, even when it’s hard, even when it’s unreturned, and even when you know that love may be the thing that breaks your heart again and again.

God Bless!