Lately, I have been asking myself the question “Was it ever really love?” I have been struggling to answer it because I truly feel that the only person who knows me better than my own self is my mom. There once was a time where I thought I knew what love truly was. I sit and think of all of the things boys have ever done for me. The initial stages of what I believed to be love were intoxicating. There was an undeniable spark, a sense of being understood and appreciated on a level I had never experienced before. Shared laughter, deep conversations, and a feeling of being completely at ease in each other’s presence. I painted this idea in my head. I once was convinced that I had found “the one,” someone who truly saw me for who I was and loved me unconditionally. We shared so many times together, building a world together, filled with dreams and aspirations, and I felt a sense of security and belonging that I had longed for.
However, as time went on, cracks began to appear in this seemingly “flawless” relationship. Misunderstandings became more frequent, communication dwindled, and the once-unbreakable bond began to shatter. Slowly, I watched each piece of that picture I painted fall apart. I found myself questioning whether the person I had fallen in love with was truly who they presented themselves to be. The realization that our values and expectations were not as aligned as I had initially believed was a painful one. As the relationship crumbled, I was left with a lingering question yet again, “Was it ever really love?”
One of the most challenging aspects of questioning past love is the fear of vulnerability. Opening your heart to someone requires trust and a willingness to be seen, flaws and all. When that trust is broken, it can leave lasting scars and make it very difficult to embrace future relationships with the same level of optimism. I find myself hesitant to let my guard down, constantly analyzing potential partners for red flags and inconsistencies. The fear of repeating past mistakes leads to constant overthinking, casting a shadow over the possibility of finding genuine love again.
Now, as I navigate the aftermath of this failed relationship, I find myself struggling to reconcile the beautiful memories with the painful reality that it really was just a chapter that ended, but my stories not over. The search for answers is ongoing, and I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that love is not always a fairytale, or a happily ever after. It can be messy, complicated, and sometimes, it can leave you questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself and the world around you.
But, despite the pain and uncertainty, I remain hopeful that true love exists, not as a perfect, flawless ideal, but as a deep and meaningful connection that evolves over time. I know now that the love I experienced wasn’t “the one,” but it served as a valuable lesson, teaching me what I need and what I don’t need in a partner.