This Doesn’t Feel Like Love
Sometimes understanding begins quietly- not with certainty, but with a feeling you can't quite explain. Maybe that's where you are today: reading, thinking, or noticing something that doesn't sit right anymore. I have come to realize through my own trauma, that many of us grew up learning versions of love that weren’t love at all- they were survival patterns, unspoken rules, and emotional compromises we were taught to normalize. And sometimes the first step toward healing isn’t leaving, fixing, or deciding- it’s simply naming the truth: not everything we’ve called love has been love. If reading this makes something inside you tighten, ache, or quietly whisper, this feels familiar then you’re right where you’re supposed to be.
As little girls, we learned love through stories, not experience. We watched princesses wait —quiet, hopeful, patient — until someone arrived to rescue them, choose them, complete them. We were shown rescue, not reciprocity. Adoration, not communication. Fireworks, not emotional safety. And without realizing it, many of us grew into women expecting love to feel dramatic, overwhelming, or intense —because we were taught that chaos meant passion and longing meant love. No one told us that real love doesn't require saving, sacrificing yourself, or shrinking to fit someone's expectations. Real love doesn't rescue you —it meets you.
Ask your heart~ When you think about the version of love that was modeled to you when you were a child, does it feel comforting, confusing, or unfamiliar? Notice your first reaction. Whatever rose first…. honor it. It’s speaking for a part of you that finally feels seen.
Somewhere along the way, the fairy tale begins to unravel. Love doesn’t feel magical —it feels confusing. Instead of feeling chosen, you find yourself trying to prove you’re worth choosing. Instead of speaking honestly, you soften your words and tuck your needs away. Instead of feeling safe, you feel unsure… But stay anyway, because it feels familiar, and you believe love requires loyalty and patience no matter the cost. And when things don’t feel right, you don't question the relationship- you question yourselves. Because no one told you that love isn't something you earn or chase. No one told you that if love feels like self-doubt, fear, or shrinking to fit someone else's comfort, it isn't love—it's survival.
I'd like to tell you what love is not. It is not heaviness in your chest or the quiet fear of saying what you really feel. Love is not adjusting yourself to be easier, quieter, or less. Love isn't waiting for someone's mood before you can breathe. It is not uncertainty disguised as passion. Love is not longing for the version of someone who only shows up sometimes. And love it is not making yourself disappear so the relationship can stay alive. Real love doesn't ask you to hide, shrink, or abandoned yourself. Real love meets you —as you are and grows.
Ask your heart~ What emotions surfaced as you read that-softness, resistance, sadness relief, or something unnamed. Whatever rose first…. honor it. It’s speaking for a part of you that finally feels seen.
Sometimes realizing what love in fact is can feel both painful and relieving. There may be a part of you that wants to look away —and another part that finally feels seen. Both are valid. Healing often begins in this uncomfortable space between clarity and uncertainty, where the truth feels raw but also strangely freeing. You're not wrong for not knowing sooner, and you're not late to understand now. You're just waking up to a new idea of loving and being loved—one that doesn't require you to disappear.
I want to share with you what healthy love should feel like. Healthy love should feel steady not rushed. It feels like exhaling in someone's presence instead of bracing. Healthy love feels like being able to speak honestly without rehearsing your words first. It feels like being listened to —not just heard. Love feels like space, not pressure. Like belonging, not performing. It feels like being full of yourself —messy, growing, learning —and still being met with kindness instead of fear, anger, or withdrawal. It feels like two people choosing each other —not to complete one another, but to walk alongside one another. Real love doesn't silence you. It softens you. It makes room for your voice. You are worthy of a voice, and you matter.
It’s okay if healthy love feels unfamiliar or even uncomfortable. When you've spent years calling survival “connection”, safety can feel foreign. Kindness might feel suspicious. Calm may feel like distance. And consistency —the very thing you long for —can feel almost impossible to trust. You're not broken for feeling this way. You're just realizing there is another way to love and be loved —one where you don't have to earn your place or silence who you are to keep the peace. Learning healthy love isn't about rushing or getting it perfect. It's about slowly recognizing the difference between what hurt you and what will heal you.
You don't have to have all the answers right now. You don't have to know what comes next or how to undo what you once called love. The fact that you're here —reading, recognizing, feeling —means something inside you is shifting. Awareness is the beginning. Healing is the becoming. And love, real love will meet you at your pace, not demand you hurry. You're allowed to take this slowly. You're allowed to learn a new way. And you're allowed to believe that love can feel safe.
Ask your heart~ What part of you softened while reading this even if only a little? Whatever that softness was is the doorway to healing.
You're not alone in this. If you're still figuring out what you feel, still naming the truth, or still learning how to choose yourself —this space was made for you. Not to rush you or tell you who to be. I want to walk with you as someone who has been right where you are. Things will get clearer, softer, and more honest inside when your spirit learns how to recognize what you’ve been carrying.
If something here resonated —even quietly —stay. Come back when you need a reminder, a moment to breath, or proof that your experience matters. Healing isn't a straight line, and you don't have to navigate it in silence. You deserve connection, understanding, and a place where your story isn't too much or too complicated.
This is just the beginning, and I'm grateful you're here. Whenever you're ready —not rushed, not pressured —there is more to explore, more to untangle, and more of yourself waiting to be met with kindness.
Until we blog again
~Lena