Safe Love Starts Here

There’s a kind of sorrow that doesn’t show up with a loud cry or a dramatic breakdown. It’s quieter than that. It lingers in the background of your life, showing up when you’re not distracted—when you’re alone, when you’re honest. Today, I let myself sit in it. I didn’t run. I didn’t try to stuff it down. I just let myself feel.

I grieve a relationships that should’ve been safe—a love that should’ve felt unconditional but came with strings. I used to think that if I just did everything right—if I was good enough, loving enough, available enough—it would finally feel like real love. But it never did. Because the truth is, some people only love when it benefits them. They’re warm when it fills a need in them, not necessarily when you need warmth most. And that kind of love can be confusing. You start questioning yourself: Am I hard to love? Am I asking for too much? Is it my fault?

But the truth I’ve come to understand is this: it’s not about me. It never was. Some people are simply not capable of giving the kind of love we need. And that has everything to do with where they are in their own story—their own pain, their own limitations—not my worth.

Still, knowing that doesn’t erase the ache.

There’s also fear wrapped in this sadness. A fear that I might end up being the same kind of emotionally unavailable person I’ve been hurt by. That I might get so caught up in my own struggles that I miss someone else’s pain. That I might overlook the very things I longed for someone to notice in me.

But I don’t want to be that person. I want to be someone who sees. Who slows down. Who notices when someone else is hurting, and shows up with emotional maturity, grace, and presence. I want to be safe for others in the way I never quite felt safe myself.

So I’m taking inventory. I’m asking God to keep my heart soft. To help me love deeply without conditions. To show me how to be available—not just physically, but emotionally. To help me slow down long enough to see others, not just myself.

I don’t have all the answers. But today, I sat with my sorrow instead of running from it. And somehow, that feels like healing—a tiny step toward becoming the person I’m meant to be.

If you’ve ever felt unseen, uncared for, or let down by someone who should have been a safe place—please know this: you’re not alone. And their inability to love you well doesn’t make you unlovable. It just means you’ll have to learn to give yourself what they couldn’t. And maybe, if you’re ready, offer others what you always needed most.

We don’t have to repeat the cycle. We get to write a new story—one where love is present, honest, and real… even if it starts with sitting in the hard stuff.