I am a woman in my late twenties and I think I am only now beginning to truly understand that love is a verb through my work as a therapist, and in my own life. I am understanding that love is not a knowing you force yourself to hold onto tightly. I am beginning to understand why something feels missing and wrong when children try to convince themselves they are loved simply because their school fees were paid or because they were protected from harm. Forcing the belief that you are loved can feel like clinging to a swim ring in the middle of the ocean—if you look too deeply into that “knowing,” you risk sinking into a bottomless void. So instead, you convince yourself that feeling unloved is a ‘you’ problem—that you are just an ungrateful child in a world where others have it worse.
It is only now that I am understanding that love is not the sensation of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. The media has drilled into us the idea that love is a magical feeling, an intoxicating rush that makes you restless. And so, we try to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible, using it to distract ourselves from the painful realities of life. But I am only now realizing just how harmful this idea of love—as an escape from life—has been for us.
It is only now that I am understanding that love is not a drug. It is not something external to us, something we must earn by becoming more, by being more attractive, by acquiring more. It is not a scarce resource we must secure access to. Love is not a shield against life, against meaninglessness, against the awareness of our mortality, against the weight of our freedom, or against the loneliness we all inevitably face. Love is not an intoxicant that numbs us to reality—it is a force that strengthens us for reality. It is what makes it possible for us to carry our burdens.
It is only now that I am understanding that it is not a feeling but a choice. Love is not measured by how soon someone says it—two weeks or a year—it is not in grand declarations. Love is a practice. A practice of choosing from a place of love even when ego and fear call for separation. A practice of staying connected to the place within us that senses oneness, and of choosing from there—again and again.
Love is a choice to show up when it’s hard. A choice to be compassionate when it would be easier to judge. A practice of patience in the face of impulse. A practice of listening when every part of you wants to just be heard.
To love is to see, to hear, to understand. To love is to show up especially when it is hard. To be kind, patient, and understanding—to stay when all you want to do is retreat into the lonely arms of isolation and rest in the false safety your ego offers.
What has love meant to you? Has your definition changed over time? Would love to hear your reflections in comments.
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