“Know how loved you are.”

One of my best friends has uttered some variation of this statement to me at least a dozen times over the past three and a half years. I almost always cry when she says it regardless of where we are or what is going on, and I nearly always dismiss her words as my brain laughs at the idea of anyone ever loving me.

But something about the other day was different.

In reality, many things were different (location, circumstances, etc.). But, it wasn’t any of that—it was my response that made it different.

As I turned to walk away and allow the person behind me a moment with her, my friend’s words echoed throughout my mind, almost in the way footsteps linger in an empty hallway. I found a spot of the floor, sat down, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

As I exhaled, the tears started flowing as my mind went to war with itself.

I felt the dissonance build within me as I focused on my breath. The thoughts flew by, but I didn’t take the time to inspect them — I simply let them fade into the void. I tried focusing on the tear drops slowly making their way from my eyes down to the bottom of my cheeks, but that simply made me cry even more.

Why is it we don’t deserve to be loved? Can you remind me?

I continued reflecting on my friend’s statement. Usually, I would rip it apart with dozens of examples about my wickedness.

But this time? This time all my mind would provide were snippets of the weekend. The side quest to Target so I could grab items my friend forgot for the retreat. Bonding with a fellow handbell player during the drive to Chattanooga. The laughter of the table as I shared my child’s witty one liners. Showing off my tattoos at the bar while everyone asked to hear the stories behind them.

The more my brain provided, the more I thought to myself, “Damn it, maybe my friend is right.” Maybe, just maybe, the idea that I’m unlovable is merely a myth.

For the first time, the thought didn’t immediately repulse me. It didn’t feel comfortable, but it also didn’t feel entirely untrue. It settled somewhere in the space between disbelief and longing.

The Myth of Being Unlovable

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a constantly running inner monologue telling me how unworthy and unlovable I am. On the best of days, it’s a dull hum lurking in the background. During the most difficult days, it’s a scream that completely consumed me, making it impossible to hear anything else.

You’re too much for people.

No one could ever love you.

You’re a waste of space.

Nobody wants you here.

I wish I could pinpoint when it started, although I’m not really sure it would matter whether the thought first entered my mind when I sat completely alone in a playground tunnel nearly every day in kindergarten or if it started when my dad sat in the crowd at every single game my brothers played but never came to any of my performances.

All that matters is, at some point along my journey of life, I received repeated signals that I am unworthy of love. No matter what I do, no matter how much I love others, I do not deserve to be loved back.

The signals weren’t always a complete lack of love, but merely a demonstration of conditional love. In many instances, love was provided… as long as I proved that I deserved it.

Reframing Conditional Love

Time and time again during my childhood, I would give every piece of myself to others. And yet, the love I received in return wasn’t freely given—it came with rules, expectations, and consequences.

Love was a currency, and I was always overdrawn.

If I performed well, met expectations, and didn’t inconvenience anyone, I might receive a momentary glimpse of love. But the second I faltered, questioned, or became too much, that love vanished—like a privilege I had temporarily been granted but never truly deserved.

When you receive conditional love from multiple sources, it teaches you that you are the problem. That if you were just a little quieter, a little calmer, a little less, then maybe love would stay. Maybe you could finally be worthy of it. And so you spend years, maybe even decades, trying to mold yourself into the version of you that deserves to be loved—never realizing that love, real love, was never meant to be a test.

But here’s the truth I’m only just beginning to understand: conditional love isn’t love at all.

Love—the kind that is real, steady, and unshaken—doesn’t hinge on perfection or performance. It doesn’t disappear when you fall apart. It just exists.

Unconditional Love: Learning to See What Was Always There

Conditional love teaches you that you are the problem. Therefore, unconditional love does the opposite—it tells you that you are enough, exactly as you are. No tests. No performances. No hoops to jump through.

For most of my life, I didn’t believe that kind of love was real. Or if it was, it certainly wasn’t meant for me.

But when I step back and really examine my life, I see glimpses of unconditional love.

I see it in my two longest-standing friendships. It comes in the form of a group chat that, on any given day, both includes serious discussions about health or work and entirely too many reels with animals. It happens on board game nights, or burger night hangouts at Toot’s. It’s statements like, “I heart your face!” and “Sho ’nuff!”

I experience it through every single photograph of Emily and I together. The genuine smiles and goofy poses. The memories of all of our firsts and all of our lasts. The random workday text messages and emails with subject lines like, “Babe is print this?”

I feel it when I am around my two best friends. I’ve tasted it in dozens of meals I’ve shared with them, heard it both in laughter and crying, saw it in the ways they’ve grilled all the women I’ve dated since Emily died.

It’s the way Emily’s family has continued to love me for the past two and a half years. It’s the randomly sweet things my children say to me. It’s my therapist crying during one of my lowest points as she said, “I care about you. This isn’t over yet.” It’s learning to forgive those who broke my heart. It’s finding connection in unexpected places—like a conversation with a stranger in a parking lot.

Unconditional love isn’t about grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It doesn’t come and go, nor does it stop when obstacles appear. It just… is.

I don’t have this all figured out yet. I still hear that inner voice telling me love must be proven, that my worth is conditional. I still have the failed relationships and past experiences. But I’m learning to challenge it.

Maybe—just maybe—I was never unlovable at all.