I know what it feels like to love someone with everything in me. Not halfway, not casually. I gave myself fully.
I’ve lived through my first relationship, and I’ve experienced my first love—though they didn’t come from the same person. My first relationship was beautiful in its own way, and he was genuinely good to me. My first love… that one taught me the most about myself. And he was good to me too—at least in the beginning.
I remember how soft everything felt back then—safe, warm, full of promise. The butterflies, the excitement, the way the smallest things meant everything. Smiling at my phone for no reason. Rereading messages. Holding onto moments as if they would last forever.
I believed in love the way people believe in happy endings—like something out of a fairytale, like the kind of love you see in romance movies and hear in love songs.
No questions. No doubts. No second thoughts.
I believed in marriage, in loyalty, in the idea that if two people loved each other deeply enough, they would naturally become the happiest version of themselves together.
I believed that love would grow stronger over time, not fade or change. I believed that when someone worked hard to win your heart, they would protect it just as much once they had it.
I believed in it so completely.
Until slowly, quietly… I stopped believing all of that.
It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t like I woke up one day and suddenly saw everything differently. It was quieter than that—small realizations, one after another, slowly stacking on top of each other. Somewhere along the way… I started to see love differently, especially now, when we live in a time when distractions are endless, attention is easy to give but hard to keep, and loyalty sometimes feels rare rather than basic.
Integrity, in many ways, feels like a fading value. More and more, people seem willing to entertain what they shouldn’t, even when it comes at the expense of someone else’s trust, relationship, or marriage.
Cheating is easier.
Leaving is easier.
Replacing someone is easier.
Now, when I think about love, I no longer see it—or want it—the way I used to.
And maybe part of that comes from who I’ve always been. I’ve always loved deeply. I don’t find it hard to love people. I find it hard to stop. But I’ve learned something the hard way. Loving someone deeply doesn’t guarantee anything. It doesn’t mean they’ll choose you and treat you the same way every time.
It doesn’t even mean you’ll be happy.
That realization shifted me from focusing so much on how I feel to how someone makes me feel. Now, the way I experience love feels different. Quieter. More grounded. Less about intensity and more about stability, built on the small, consistent things that make me feel safe.
Because feelings can be overwhelming, but consistency is what stays.
Like how my partner shares his live location—not because I asked for it, not because I’m checking on him, but because he simply wants to. He offers that kind of transparency so naturally, leaving nothing for me to overthink.
Or the way he always tells me where he’s going, who he’s with, what he’s doing. He checks in on me, not because I demand it but because he wants me to feel included in his life. He respects my time. He doesn’t leave me waiting or wondering.
And when I mention things casually (like craving something or wanting a coffee), he remembers. He takes note. He makes sure I get it, without me having to ask. He values our time together, prioritizes it, and continues to show up for me with the same attention he had years ago.
I don’t find myself arguing anymore or getting pulled into drama and emotional rollercoasters—because he’s so gentle with my feelings.
And then there are the little things that people might say are “not a big deal,” but mean everything to me. Like how he’s mindful on social media, careful not to do anything that might hurt my feelings. The way he respects boundaries that protect our relationship. He understands what integrity means to me… and he chooses discipline in his actions.
Loving someone doesn’t automatically make me feel safe anymore, but being with someone consistent, intentional, and transparent? That does something to me. He makes me feel safe in a way love alone never did. It’s a kind of safety I’ve never really experienced before, and it’s true:“What one man won’t do, another man will.”
I remember when I was younger, my mum once told me, “Let someone love you more than you love them.”
I understand that phrase now. When someone truly loves you, the things that feel complicated in the wrong hands become simple in the right ones. Not because it’s easy for everyone, but because it matters to them—because love, when it’s real, shows up in action, not just words. You don’t have to question everything. You don’t have to overthink every small change or decode every silence. You don’t have to wonder where you stand, because their consistency tells you clearly.
You just… know.
You feel safe.
You feel considered.
You feel taken care of.
You feel chosen.
And that kind of peace? It’s hard to walk away from.
So yes… it feels safer to be loved more than you love. Not because I want to use someone. Not because I don’t care. But because I’ve experienced what it’s like to give everything and still not be chosen the way I deserve.
Now, I choose more intentionally.
I start thinking, “If someone loves me more, they’ll take care of me better. I won’t have to prove my worth constantly” And yes… that thought can feel comforting.
Still, a part of me wonders… Is this still love? Or is this just survival? Am I choosing peace? Or am I avoiding risk?
The truth is… it can be all of it at once. And I don’t know if that’s growth or fear. Maybe I’ve grown… Or maybe I’ve just learned how to protect myself better.
Maybe it’s both.
Because love doesn’t always come as a spark; sometimes, it builds slowly—through consistency, through trust, through the quiet ways someone chooses you every single day. And real love doesn’t always look perfectly balanced. Sometimes you love more. Sometimes you love less. Sometimes you grow into it. Sometimes it feels less like butterflies… and more like sitting by a fireplace. Warm. Steady. Safe.
Maybe… that’s the kind of love that lasts.
I do believe that.
But I’ve also learned something about myself now: I don’t need to choose love—I just need to feel safe. Maybe love isn’t something I fall into anymore; maybe it’s something I build.
When I feel safe, I don’t have to force love, chase it, question it, or protect myself from it. It grows on its own.
Real safety doesn’t take love away.
It makes space for it to exist properly.
And this time, I won’t be the same person who only chased feelings and called it love.
Because for me now, safety isn’t the result of love; it’s the beginning of it.
Love,
—Auri Duham 🌻
