love is given, not earned?
My wounded inner child won this round, the very moment I surrendered my belief in love.
The culprit wasn’t a man, although I wish that were the case. I’d chalk it up to the game, indulge my sporadic rewatch of He’s Just Not That Into You, and be done with it.
But no.
It is everyone, myself included, because many of us are tired and not trying enough or trying too much. We’ve made a mess of the entire concept of love, and it dates back to never-ending cycles of abuse and trauma.
I don’t blame social media or my generation as much anymore. I believe that’s pointless now.
Living in this world is really hard, especially when you’re a marginalized person, especially when you’re a marginalized person raised and surrounded by other marginalized people.
Sometimes all we know is suffering, even if it’s discreet, even if it’s etched in between the cracks of superficial, joyous moments.
When I reflect on my life and views on love, I search my childhood memories. I remember seeing and feeling love in my home. I remember movies, laughter, freshly-popped popcorn, perfectly-sliced PB&J sandwiches, cozy onesies that helped me brave the winter and ‘I love you’s to brave the hatred from kids who only knew the cold. But I also recall this unspoken need to strive for perfection, because that’s what garnered approval and praise, in absence of prettiness and other markers that denote natural remarkability.
I am the most loved when I’m respectable, when I do as I’m told, when I’m the smartest, when I’m defying the expectations and projections forced upon all the other little Black girls who look like me but were given the short end of the stick.
It’s deeply unfair.
A life where you’ve trained yourself to always be on a high cannot prepare you for the devastating blow of the lows.
I questioned whether or not I’m loveable, as soon as I realized I had “nothing” to show for it.
Perhaps that’s why many people believe they don’t deserve love and that others, in turn, don’t deserve love, because they don’t understand love. Like me, they don’t understand what it means to be loved when they’re not providing or performing for everyone else.
They’re masking and finding it unfathomable that some people, who don’t feel the need to do so, receive love anyway. Left unchecked, their lack of comprehension manifests as judgment towards everyone—the children they raise, family members, friends, and strangers—because they hate themselves.
Self hatred and radical love cannot co-exist.
Even if you hate yourself and claim to love others, your disdain won’t be able to fan the flames of paranoia, conflict avoidance, and childhood trauma.
Suddenly your relationships burn.
I am skinnier now, prettier now than I was years ago, but I’m still needing to do the soul work now more than ever, so that I’m not a reflection of an environment that says I can’t love myself until I’ve earned it.
It’s dangerous how society’s obsession with self-optimization slips its way into the psyche, usurping one’s sense of self until they’re left with the pieces of a puzzle that seems unsalvageable.
I don’t know how anyone claims to love themselves while constantly desiring to “level” themselves up in every season and facet of life.
That’s no longer working for me.
My self-love journey falls flat, when I treat myself like I’m damaged goods until I reach my imagination’s pinnacle of success.
When I treat myself like I’ll only deserve care and desire with a more toned body, a fuller bank account, and a perfectly charming personality, I’m doing myself and others a disservice.
I’m reverting back to my childhood.
Being told that you’re loved but shown otherwise hurts.
Being constantly critiqued, constantly quieted, constantly deemed unpalatable, when you just wanted to exist, hurts.
But I am the writer of my story now, and you are the writer of yours, and who’s to say that we can’t usher in something greater?
I love when a Phoenix rises from the ashes.
Clichéd but applicable, we’re witnessing a lot of people’s becoming, which proves that the reality of a loveless world might be further away than I thought.
Unlike constantly trying to change one’s self, becoming relies on owning your past, living honestly, reclaiming the truth, and liberating yourself and others.
That’s why even though love is still a question mark for me; I can’t fully buy into the notion that it’s nonexistent.
There’s a lot of despair and anxiety, rightfully so, but hope finds its way as we watch survivors take center stage and tell their stories.
Isn’t that the most incredible act of love? To say that this traumatic experience happened, to acknowledge that you deserved better, and to embrace the love of self and love from others that you were worthy of all along.
Cassie comes to mind but so do all survivors and all people who’ve done the work to create a beautiful life in spite of the naysayers implying that they don’t deserve more.
We all deserve more.
We all deserve love.
I may not know the full meaning or have it all figured out, but the sentiment still feels true and for that I’m forever grateful.
If you enjoyed this piece, please consider reading some of the other essays I’ve written about love:
Beautiful as always, Alexis. Thank you for sharing! This piece really encourages me to reflect on the true meaning of self-love and how it has influenced my journey in seeking love. I feel hopeless, frustrated, used, misunderstood, and faithful all altogether. I go back and forth, hoping to also figure it out soon.
beautiful and very touching, thank you alexis