Real Love

Hey. 

I see you.

Yeah. you.

Thirty-two and single. Twenty-three and divorced. Fifteen and flirty. Yeah, I see you. So before you roll your eyes and tell your phone screen this is just another sappy love story…

It’s not. 

I know what real love is. And I know what real love isn’t. And it’s about to get real. ‘Cause this matters. And I promised to be “painfully vulnerable.” 

This Valentine’s Day, I’m lucky enough to be cuddled up with my fiancé, who is what I consider to be the poster child of “real love.” He is kind when he doesn’t have to be. He is gentle. He is compassionate. He is selfless. He is strong, courageous, handsome, patient, silly, ambitious, honest. Frankly, he’s everything I never knew I needed. He is an image of God.

Some of you might not need to read this, because you were lucky enough to stand firm in your faith from a young age, or you saw the red flags as RED NOT GREEN, or you knew it was not worth risking your own emotional wellbeing for the benefit of someone else. 

I, on the other hand, have been steadfast in my faith, but wavering in my decisions (or let’s call it curiosity and genuine longing for authentic connection). You see, I was fortunate to have two fun, healthy relationships in my teens/early twenties. We just grew up and apart. However, I took a hard turn from the ages of say, twenty-three to twenty-seven (ish). I developed what I like to call “foster girlfriend complex.” I forgot to guard my heart. I banked on the potential of someone: who they could be rather than who they were. I exaggerated my place in someone else’s life as if they needed saving and I was the righteous Savior. (Self-awareness comin’ in hot).

Without going into too much detail, because who really wants to read my actual diaries (though you’d probably get a good laugh), I’ll simply say it took me a few years to SNAP OUT OF IT. After I met Janus, I had a lil’ “Come to Jesus for the 50th time” moment. A revelation of sorts. And I finally decided to accept the love I felt unworthy of receiving after four years of self-sabotage.

Now I’m engaged. I’m heartbroken. for the way I treated myself and others, and how others treated me. But I’m healing. And I’m healthy. And this is what I know:

Real love is not potential. Real love does not require you to change someone. It is not an idea or a fantasy or a hope. Real love does not leave you responsible for their emotional instability or angry outbursts. Real love does not envy or boast. It doesn’t control. Real love is free and consistent and comfortable. Safe. Real love is not in a hurry. You are. 

Real love does not feel like confusion, attraction, heartbreak, guilt, shame, frustration, adoration, spite, resentment, addiction, sin. Real love is not stonewalling or gaslighting or manipulating or walking on eggshells. It’s present and straightforward. It is intentional. 

Real love doesn’t feel like a rollercoaster. It feels like home. Real love is raw and honest, accepting and awe. It is not stewing over a text you should send-opening your phone notes-writing and revising what you’re going to say. It is “Here I am, in all of my brokenness. This is me.” Real loves says, “I see you. I value you. You are broken, but you are loved.” Real love is not possessive or jealous. It celebrates and encourages. It is not anxious or obsessive, but peaceful and secure. Real love is not desperate.

Real love is pursuit. Real love is persistence. Real love is purposeful.

Real love is a choice.

My friend. If you’re thirty-two and single or twenty-three and divorced or fifteen or whatever, know real love. Take it from me. Go to coffee shops alone and order your favorite drink. Listen to your favorite song over and over again (as LOUD as you want to), buy the freakin’ shoes, go dancing with your friends. Love yourself, love you.

But don’t you settle. Don’t you tolerate potential or control or rollercoaster jitters. Sit with gratitude. Stay patient (you can roll your eyes because I knnooww how cliché and annoying this phrase gets). Pray and pray and pray some more. Call me. I’ll tell you what it’s like to be lonely next to a stranger who says he loves you. But don’t settle, ok? 

You are seen.

You are worthy.

You matter, always.