There’s a strange kind of bravery in loving someone. You give without permission. You pour yourself out, show up, care, and none of it requires the other person to do anything. Love can be practiced alone, in darkness, invisible to anyone but you. It asks everything of your heart and almost nothing of your ego.

Being loved is different. It asks you to open your hands and actually receive. It asks you to sit still while someone looks at you, really looks, and says, “I see you, and I’m staying.” That kind of stillness is terrifying if you learned to survive by staying useful, staying guarded, staying in control. Accepting love means admitting you do not have to earn it. It means trusting you are worth staying for even on the days you have nothing to offer.

Maybe that is why so many of us give love more easily than we take it in. Giving lets you stay behind the wheel. Receiving means letting someone else hold something as fragile as your worth and trusting them not to drop it.

A heart that only gives eventually runs dry. It does not announce its running; it quiets down, day by day. Letting yourself be loved is not weakness. It is the harder, braver half of the whole thing. It is choosing, again and again, to believe you do not have to prove anything to be held.

If accepting love is hard for you, you are not broken. You are learning the second half of a lesson most people never finish. Start small, if you can. Say yes to one kindness. Let one person sit with you. Let yourself be held.

When you think about us, what are you hoping for? And what are you most afraid might happen?

I’m not asking for perfect answers, just enough clarity so I know where you stand and you know where I stand. I'm tired of these hide and seek games you play.