We Were Taught to Call This Love

We were taught to call this love The way we stay even when we are tired The way we soften our needs So no one feels overwhelmed by our honesty.

We were taught that love looks like patience without limits, Like understanding without reciprocity, Like silenced dressed up as maturity.

No one warned us That love can be slow forgetting. That you can wake up one day and realize you've memorized someone else's wounds but forgotten your own dreams.

We called it devotion When we answered messages instead of listening to ourselves. We called it commitment When we ignored the quiet ache in our chest. We called it "being strong". When what we were really doing Was disappearring politely

Some of us learned early that being needed felt safer than being chosen, So we became emotional homes for people who never planned to stay. We poured warmth into cold hands and wondered why we were always shivering.

Love should not feel like holding your breath. It should not feel like shrinking your voice to keep the peace. It should not feel like convincing yourself that "this is enough" While something inside you quietly breaks.

There is a grief that comes with loving deeply and realizing you were loving alone.

Its the grief of unsent texts, of boundaries learned too late, of versions of yourself that only existed to be acceptable. But there is also a return.

It happens the first time you say no and the world doesn't end. The first time you choose rest over explanation. The first time you leave without waiting for permission.

Healing doesn't make you colder. It makes you clearer.

You stop mistaking chaos for chemistry. You stop calling anxiety butterflies. You stop believing love must hurt to be real.

One day, love will arrive quietly not asking you to prove yourself, not demanding your exhaustion, not feeding on your fear being alone.

And when it does You will recognize it not by how much it takes from you, but by how much of yourself you get to keep.

We don't talk enough about the quiet exhaustion that comes from loving without rest. Not the loud kind, the kind that cries and breaks things but the subtle tiredness that settles into your bones When you are always the one holding space.

The one who understands. The one who waits. The one who bends.

We learned early how to read shifts in tone, how to sense distance before it was spoken, how to prepare ourselves for absence While still pretending everything was fine, We called it intuition. But sometimes it was just survival.

Somewhere along the way love becomes perfomance. We curated versions of ourselves That were easier to keep, Less demanding, Less honest.

We laughed when we wanted reassurance. We stayed calm when we wanted clarity. We stayed when leaving would have been kinder to the parts of us that were quietly begging for air.

There is a particular loneliness in being loved only for how little you ask for.

It teaches you to negotiate your own needs, to water yourself down Until you are palatable, Until you are praised for being "easy," Until you forget that love was never meant to feel like a favor.

No one tells you that self-abandonment often looks like peace. Like calm conversations. Like understanding silence. Like being proud of how little you require.

But the body keeps score. The chest tightens. The joy dulls. The days blur together because you are present everywhere except inside yourself Healing begins quietly too.

It begins the moment you notice how tired you are of being strong. The moment you admit that love, No matter how deep, Should not cost your sense of self.

It begins when you stop explaining your pain to people who only listen to decide whether it's convenient.

You start choosing yourself in small ways. Leaving conversations early. Letting messages wait. Naming discomfort without apologizing for it.

At first, it feels wrong. Selfish, even. Like you are breaking a rule you were never allowed to question. But slowly something shifts.

You feel yourself returning. You remember the sound of your own laughter when it isn't borrowed. Your opinions when they aren't softened. Your desires when they aren't negotiated away.

You realize that love does not disappear When you stop over giving. Only the relationships that relied on your silence do. And that loss , As painful as it feels Is a kind of truth.

Because the love meant for you will not require you to prove your worth through exhaustion. It will not mistake your boundaries For distance It will not punish you For choosing wholeness.

One day,you will look back at the version of yourself who stayed too long, Gave too much, Believed love was something to earn, And you will not judge them.

You will thank them for surviving the only way they know how.

Then you will step forward Lighter ,clearer, steadier Carrying the understanding that love isn't meant to drain you, Tenderness should not feel like a sacrifice, You are allowed to be loved Without disappearing first.

And when love finds you again because it will You will recognize it not by intensity, but by ease.

By how safe it feels to speak. By how little you have to explain By how much of yourself you are allowed to keep.

"Love isn't a prison, love is beautiful Love is patience that learns your name Love is not loud, not easy Love is the daily return, choosing care over escape, Love is hands finding home in the dark Love is laughter repairing cracks, Memory choosing kindness, Love is beautiful because it endures the trials, the storms Love is two imperfect lives, choosing themselves over and over again. Love arrives like a weather, unannounced yet precise.

Love is a combination of two sides, the good and the bad. Love is an unexplainable Force beyond human understanding. Love is a forever contract, signed by heart and persons.

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