I Gave Up on Love, But My Heart Didn’t Get the Memo
I didn’t stop believing in love because I wanted to. I stopped because it started to hurt.
I once believed love would come naturally—as if being open, kind, and willing was enough. I wanted the gentle kind, the kind that chooses you without hesitation, without conditions.
But love came—and not gently.
It arrived with promises that broke, with loyalty I gave more than I received, and lessons in how hope can quietly turn into self-doubt. Each time I told myself I was stronger, something inside me grew quieter. Loving became exhausting.
So I gave up. I learned to be alone without fear. I stopped waiting for messages, imagining futures that weren’t promised, and built a life where loneliness didn’t feel like failure.
Yet my heart never fully agreed.
It still hopes—in the pause after a familiar song, in the longing to be understood without explanation, in the quiet desire for a love that feels like rest instead of survival.
What scares me now isn’t being alone. It’s what happens if love returns. I fear testing it, doubting it, or pushing away softness just to see if it lasts. Not because I don’t want love, but because I’ve learned how quickly it can leave.
Still, I know this: I don’t want to love from fear. I don’t want to punish someone new for old wounds. I don’t want perfection. I want safety, effort that doesn’t disappear, a love that feels like rest.
If love finds me again, I hope I’m brave enough to let it stay. Healing isn’t closing yourself off—it’s learning to stay open without losing yourself.
We are meant not only to find another heart, but to become a safe place for love when it arrives. Maybe that’s where I am now—learning how to be that place.
