I’m not here to plead for love or play games. I’ve experienced enough to know what I deserve and what I will never have to go through again. I’ve given abundantly, loved deeply, and been hurt more times than I can count.

I’m not here to plead for love or play games. I’ve walked through too many fires, lost myself too many times in people who couldn’t see me, and I’ve built myself back from pieces that others left behind. Love, for me, has never been casual. It’s never been half-hearted or convenient. I’ve never known how to love a little bit, how to give partially, how to withhold the parts of myself that mattered. I have always shown up fully, completely, and unapologetically real, believing that if I gave enough, stayed long enough, understood deeply enough, someone would see me and choose me without hesitation or conditions. But life has taught me—over and over again—that not everyone has the capacity to meet you where you are, even if you hand them a map and wait patiently with your heart wide open.

I’ve learned the hard way that love doesn’t always come back to you the way you give it. Some people are only capable of taking. They come into your life not to build but to consume. They love the way you make them feel, but not who you are. They adore your light until it shines on the parts of them they haven’t faced. And when that happens, they run. Or worse, they stay and try to dim you. And in those moments, when the people you gave your heart to begin to chip away at it, piece by piece, you start to question yourself. You wonder if maybe you’re too much or not enough. You become smaller, quieter, more careful with your love, thinking maybe if you just love better, more patiently, more gently, they will stay. But they don’t. Or they do, but the version of you that remains isn’t the same person who once believed love could be something soft and safe.

There comes a point where you have to decide that your peace is more important than proving your worth to someone who can’t see it. I’ve reached that point. Not out of bitterness, but out of clarity. I’m not cold. I’m not closed off. But I’m not interested in bleeding for people who would let me die of emotional thirst in the name of their own comfort. I’m not here to beg for attention, to fight for space in someone’s life, or to decode mixed signals like I’m playing some emotional lottery hoping to win affection. I’ve done all of that before. I know what it costs. And I know that real love never requires you to lose yourself to feel it.

I’ve loved people who didn’t know how to hold love, and I blamed myself when they dropped it. I’ve bent until I broke trying to fit into someone’s limited view of what love should look like. I’ve stayed when I should have walked, tolerated when I should have spoken up, and been silent when I should have screamed. I’ve known the quiet ache of lying next to someone who doesn’t see you anymore. I’ve felt the loneliness that creeps in even when someone says they love you but treats you like an option. I’ve cried in the shower just to make sure no one could hear me, put on smiles so convincing I almost believed them myself, and gone to sleep hoping the next morning would hurt less. I’ve lived through all of it.

And because of all of it, I now know what I deserve. Not in a bitter, “I’ll never trust again” way—but in a strong, rooted, unwavering way. I know I deserve someone who doesn’t make me question where I stand. I deserve honesty, consistency, and effort. I deserve someone who understands that love isn’t just a feeling but a choice—a daily decision to show up, to be present, to grow, to communicate, to stay even when it’s uncomfortable. I deserve someone who is emotionally mature enough to hold space for my heart without making me feel like a burden. I deserve depth, not surface-level connection that vanishes the moment things get hard.

I’ve spent too many years trying to be enough for people who weren’t even ready for the kind of love I had to offer. And I don’t regret loving them. I don’t regret being the person who tried, who gave, who stayed. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be. But I’m no longer willing to pour endlessly into people who show up with broken cups and no intention of ever filling mine. Reciprocity is no longer negotiable. Mutual respect, emotional availability, accountability—these are not bonuses. They are requirements.

If someone cannot meet me in the places I’ve fought to reach within myself, then they are not for me. And that’s okay. I don’t harbor hate. I don’t carry resentment. But I do carry wisdom now. And that wisdom is built on scars I earned through love given to the wrong hands. Hands that dropped me. Hands that clung to me out of fear, not love. Hands that only reached for me in their own loneliness but never out of true care for who I was. I see it now. I see it so clearly that I cannot unsee it.

I’ve learned that love isn’t supposed to confuse you. It isn’t supposed to keep you up at night wondering why you feel empty next to someone who claims to care. Love isn’t supposed to make you question your worth, your beauty, your voice, or your place in someone’s world. Love doesn’t feel like begging. Love doesn’t look like silence. Love doesn’t hurt like betrayal disguised as miscommunication. Love, real love, feels like safety. It feels like someone choosing you not because they need you, but because they see you, they value you, and they are willing to stand beside you through all of life’s chaos, not just when it’s easy or convenient.

I’ve outgrown chaos disguised as passion. I’ve outgrown being the emotional caretaker for people unwilling to do their own healing. I’ve outgrown potential. I no longer fall in love with who someone could be if only they changed. I want what is real, what is honest, what is rooted in mutual growth and accountability. I’m not afraid to be alone. I’d rather be alone with my peace than entangled in a connection that robs me of it. My solitude is no longer lonely—it’s sacred. It’s where I recharge, reflect, and reconnect with myself. I’ve come to realize that the love I’ve been seeking externally is the same love I’ve always deserved to give myself.

That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on love. It means I’ve stopped chasing people who don’t see the value in what I bring. It means I now wait for the kind of love that meets me where I stand, not one that drags me backward or makes me question whether I’m lovable. It means I love myself enough not to settle for someone who only wants the parts of me that are easy to love. The right person won’t be intimidated by my strength, my depth, or the intensity of my heart. They won’t run from my past—they’ll respect the battles I’ve fought and be honored to walk with me into the future.

So no, I’m not here to plead. I’m not here to prove anything. I’ve done the inner work. I’ve looked at my wounds, sat with my pain, and rebuilt the parts of me that others couldn’t handle. I’ve faced my patterns, owned my mistakes, and forgiven myself for staying too long in places I should have left. I’ve learned boundaries. I’ve learned discernment. I’ve learned to walk away from what doesn’t serve me without feeling guilty. I know now that my love is rare—not because I think I’m better than anyone, but because I know how deeply I feel, how fiercely I commit, and how willingly I give. And that kind of love? It’s not for just anyone.

I’ll continue to be soft, but I won’t be naive. I’ll continue to give, but I’ll be selective. I’ll continue to love, but I’ll never again lose myself doing it. I am not bitter. I am better. I am wiser. I am whole. And I refuse to allow my past to define my capacity to love or be loved. What I’ve been through has not made me hard—it’s made me intentional. I know what I want. I know what I need. And most importantly, I know that I no longer have to go through hell to find it. The right kind of love won’t make me beg, won’t make me shrink, won’t make me question my own heart.

It will feel like peace. Like home. Like finally being met with the same kind of energy I’ve always been willing to give. Until then, I’ll keep walking in my truth, standing in my worth, and loving myself in all the ways I used to wait for others to.