People ask me all the time, “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
Or they say, “We don’t believe in love anymore.”
And then comes the whole speech: love is fake, relationships are pointless, everyone cheats, nobody is loyal, feelings are for fools, blah blah blah.
And I get it. I really do.
Because when you look around today, it does feel like love is losing.
But here’s what I honestly believe:
Love isn’t dead.
We’re just distracted.
We’re drowning in noise. We’re addicted to attention. We’re performing a life instead of living it. And in the middle of all of that, we forgot how to be human with each other.
We forgot how to be real.
> The real problem: we’re addicted to being seen, not known
The real problem: we’re addicted to being seen, not known
The deepest tragedy of this generation isn’t that love “doesn’t exist.”
It’s that we’ve replaced intimacy with visibility.
We don’t crave connection the way we think we do.
We crave proof.
Proof that we matter.
Proof that we’re attractive.
Proof that we’re desired.
Proof that we’re not forgotten.
And that’s why so many people today aren’t actually trying to be loved—
they’re trying to be noticed.
Because being noticed is fast.
It’s addictive.
It’s measurable.
A view. A like. A reply. A follow.
A “🔥” reaction. A compliment. A notification.
A tiny hit of reassurance that says:
“You still exist. You’re still relevant. You’re still worthy.”
But here’s the thing:
Being seen is not the same as being known.
Being seen is someone watching your highlight reel.
Being known is someone understanding your silence.
Being seen is being praised for your smile.
Being known is being loved through your storms.
Being seen is someone liking your photo.
Being known is someone noticing you’re not okay, even when you say “I’m fine.”
The scary part?
Most of us have trained ourselves to prefer being seen—
because being known requires something we’re terrified of:
exposure.
To be known, you have to reveal the parts of yourself that don’t perform well online:
the insecurities you hide behind jokes
the loneliness you cover with confidence
the fear of not being enough
the overthinking you pretend you don’t do
the softness you act like you outgrew
the hurt you never processed
the love you never learned how to receive
And that level of honesty is uncomfortable.
It’s risky.
Because once you let someone know the real you… they can leave.
So instead, we choose the safer option:
we curate.
We filter our faces.
We edit our lives.
We shape our personalities around what gets applause.
We learn what to post, what to hide, what to say, what not to say.
We start living like we’re always being watched—
like we’re a brand, not a person.
And slowly, without realizing it, we stop asking:
“Do you understand me?”
and we start asking:
“Do you approve of me?”
That shift destroys love.
Because love does not survive in a place where everyone is auditioning.
Love cannot breathe when your partner is competing with an algorithm.
Love cannot grow when people are chasing attention from the world,
while giving the bare minimum to the person right in front of them.
That’s why relationships feel emptier now.
Not because we don’t have options—
but because we have too many distractions.
Not because love became harder—
but because presence became rarer.
We say we want deep love, but we avoid deep conversations.
We say we want someone who understands us, but we never speak honestly.
We say we want loyalty, but we keep doors open “just in case.”
We say we want peace, but we feed our ego with unnecessary attention.
And in the end, we become surrounded… but not held.
Messaged… but not understood.
Desired… but not valued.
Seen… but not known.
And the worst part is this:
When you’re addicted to being seen, you start choosing people who see you as a trend,
not a human.
People who want your body, your vibe, your aesthetic, your energy—
but not your heart.
Not your depth.
Not your pain.
Not your healing.
So you keep looking for love in places designed for performance,
and then you wonder why it doesn’t feel real.
Because real love asks for something the online world doesn’t teach:
slow attention.
The kind that stays.
The kind that listens.
The kind that doesn’t need an audience.
The kind that doesn’t just see you when you shine—
but holds you when you break.
That’s what it means to be known.
And if we ever want love to feel real again,
we have to choose that.
Not more followers.
Not more validation.
Not more eyes.
Just one soul that truly understands you—
and a version of you brave enough to be understood.
> We’re using therapy words like weapons
Let’s talk about something nobody wants to admit out loud.
This generation didn’t just learn new words.
We learned how to use them to win.
“Red flag.”
“Toxic.”
“Narcissist.”
“Gaslighting.”
“Love bombing.”
“Trauma bond.”
“Attachment issues.”
“My boundaries.”
These words exist for a reason. Some people truly went through abuse, manipulation, and real trauma—and having language for it helps them survive and heal.
But what we’re doing now?
We’re turning healing language into a weapon.
Not to understand each other—
but to shut each other down.
And the truth that hurts is this:
A lot of people are not using these words because they’re emotionally intelligent.
They’re using them because it’s the easiest way to avoid responsibility while still looking “right.”
We don’t communicate anymore.
We label.
We diagnose.
We cancel people in our minds.
And we walk away feeling superior, even when we were wrong too.
Here’s what it looks like in real life:
Example 1: Calling someone “toxic” because they want clarity
You’re talking to someone, you’re texting every day, you act like a couple… but you refuse to define anything.
Then they ask, “What are we?”
And instead of answering like an adult, you go:
“Ugh, you’re so toxic. You’re pressuring me.”
No.
They’re not toxic for asking a real question.
You just don’t want accountability.
You want the benefits of love with the freedom of being “single.”
Example 2: Using “boundaries” as an excuse to ghost people
Boundaries are important. But some people use the word “boundary” like a VIP pass to treat others like trash.
They’ll hurt someone, disappear for days, and when the other person asks what happened, they say:
“That’s my boundary. I don’t do confrontation.”
That’s not a boundary.
That’s emotional avoidance.
That’s you refusing to do the uncomfortable part of relationships—communication—while still expecting people to understand you.
A real boundary sounds like:
“I need time to cool down. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
Not:
“I’m protecting my peace” while leaving someone confused, anxious, and disrespected.
Example 3: Throwing “gaslighting” into every disagreement
Gaslighting is real. It’s serious. It’s abuse when someone repeatedly twists reality to make you doubt your mind.
But now people use it for everything.
You: “You didn’t reply for two days.”
Them: “I was busy.”
You: “Stop gaslighting me.”
Maybe they are lying.
Or maybe they genuinely were busy.
Or maybe they forgot.
Or maybe you’re both emotional and the conversation needs calm, not accusations.
But when you scream “gaslighting” too quickly, you turn a conversation into a courtroom.
Now it’s not about fixing the issue.
It’s about proving someone is evil.
And once you label someone as a villain, you stop listening.
That’s how relationships die—not always because of betrayal, but because of constant emotional prosecution.
Example 4: Calling everyone a “narcissist” when they hurt your ego
Someone rejects you.
Someone doesn’t choose you.
Someone doesn’t give you what you want.
So you call them a narcissist.
Sometimes people really are self-centered and manipulative.
But sometimes they just… don’t like you.
Or they’re emotionally immature.
Or they’re inconsistent.
Or they’re not ready.
Or they made mistakes.
The truth is, calling them a narcissist can make you feel powerful, because it turns your pain into a diagnosis.
It makes you the “aware” one, the “healed” one, the victim who did nothing wrong.
But here’s the hard truth that most people avoid:
Sometimes it wasn’t manipulation.
Sometimes it was just two people with different levels of maturity, different needs, different intentions.
And you ignored the signs because you wanted the fantasy more than the truth.
Example 5: Using “trauma” to justify bad behavior instead of healing it
This one hurts the most because it’s common.
People will say:
“I have trauma, that’s why I act like this.”
And then they use it as a shield to keep hurting others.
They lie, disappear, flirt around, disrespect you, cross lines…
And the moment you call it out, they flip it into therapy language:
“You’re triggering me.”
“I’m just avoidant.”
“You’re not respecting my healing.”
Healing is not a free pass to damage people.
Trauma explains behavior, yes.
But it does not excuse cruelty.
A healed mindset says:
“I struggle with this, but I’m working on it, and I’ll take accountability when I mess up.”
Not:
“This is who I am, deal with it.”
Example 6: “Red flags” turned into paranoia and perfectionism
Social media taught people to search for “red flags” like it’s a scavenger hunt.
“He took an hour to reply—red flag.”
“She cried during an argument—red flag.”
“He’s quiet—red flag.”
“She wants reassurance—red flag.”
Bro… sometimes that’s not a red flag.
Sometimes it’s just a human being with emotions, flaws, stress, and a life.
Yes, there are real red flags—disrespect, manipulation, repeated lies, aggression, control, cheating, emotional abuse.
But we’ve reached a point where people call anything uncomfortable “toxic,” because discomfort demands growth.
And growth is hard.
So here’s the truth that hurts to hear:
A lot of people don’t want love.
They want a partner who never triggers their insecurities, never challenges their ego, never asks them to grow.
They want a relationship that feels good 24/7—like a movie.
And the moment it becomes real, they start throwing labels instead of doing work.
Therapy words were meant to bring clarity.
But we’re using them to avoid conversations, dodge accountability, and make the other person feel guilty for having needs.
And if you really want love—real love—stop using words as knives.
Use them as mirrors.
Because the goal isn’t to prove you’re “right.”
The goal is to build something that lasts.
And nothing lasting is built by people who would rather label each other than understand each other.
> People pretend, and then they blame love when it breaks
One of the biggest reasons people say “love is fake” is because a lot of relationships today don’t start with love at all.
They start with performance.
We’re not entering relationships as our real selves anymore.
We’re entering like we’re applying for a job.
Like we’re pitching a product.
Like we’re trying to be “chosen.”
And when you’re desperate to be chosen, you don’t show who you are.
You show what you think will be accepted.
You become a version of yourself that you believe the other person will like.
You hide your flaws.
You hide your insecurities.
You hide your real intentions.
You hide your habits.
You hide your jealousy.
You hide your ego.
You hide your anger.
You hide your immaturity.
You hide your past.
You hide your needs.
You hide your boundaries.
And in the beginning, it looks perfect.
Because it’s not love yet.
It’s marketing.
We’re living in a generation where people know how to attract…
but don’t know how to sustain.
They know how to flirt…
but don’t know how to lead with honesty.
They know how to create butterflies…
but don’t know how to build trust.
And then when it collapses, they don’t say:
“I wasn’t ready.”
“I wasn’t honest.”
“I didn’t know how to love.”
They say:
“Love is fake.”
“Relationships never work.”
“Everyone leaves.”
“People always change.”
But the truth is…
love didn’t fail you.
Your mask did.
Because you cannot build something real while pretending to be someone else.
Sooner or later, the real you will show up.
And if the real you is nothing like what you promised in the beginning, it becomes a silent betrayal.
Not always cheating… but still betrayal.
Because the other person didn’t fall in love with you.
They fell in love with a character you played.
And this happens on both sides. Not “boys do this” or “girls do this.”
People do this.
Humans do this.
Here’s how it looks in real life (and you’ll recognize it):
Example 1: The “I’m chill, I don’t care” act
At the start, someone pretends to be low-maintenance.
“I’m not like other people.”
“I’m not clingy.”
“I don’t get jealous.”
“I don’t need reassurance.”
They act cool because they’re scared if they show feelings, they’ll look weak.
Then the relationship gets serious…
and suddenly they’re controlling.
Suddenly they’re checking your following list.
Suddenly they’re angry when you go out.
Suddenly they’re insecure about everything.
And the other person is confused because the person they fell for was “so calm.”
But that calm wasn’t maturity.
It was acting.
It was fear.
It was ego trying to look unbothered.
Example 2: Pretending to be a good communicator
At first, they reply fast.
They call you every night.
They ask about your day.
They show interest.
They make you feel wanted.
Then once you’re attached, they stop trying.
They start disappearing.
They start replying whenever they feel like it.
They stop explaining.
They stop making you feel secure.
And when you bring it up, they act like you’re asking for too much.
They say you’re “doing drama.”
But you’re not asking for too much.
You’re asking for the same energy they used to give when they wanted you.
The truth?
Some people don’t want a relationship.
They want the chase.
They want to win you, not love you.
And when they win you, the excitement dies… because they were never built for commitment in the first place.
Example 3: Copying your personality to get closer to you
This one is scary because it feels like destiny at first.
You like certain music… suddenly they like it too.
You like certain movies… suddenly it’s their favorite too.
You have certain values… suddenly they believe the same thing.
You have certain goals… suddenly they’re “just like you.”
You feel deeply understood.
You feel like you found “your person.”
But later, the truth shows up.
They didn’t like those things.
They didn’t believe those things.
They were just mirroring you to get you emotionally attached.
So now you’re not falling out of love with them…
you’re waking up from an illusion.
And that wake-up is painful, because it makes you question your judgment, your heart, and love itself.
Example 4: Acting loyal until temptation arrives
Some people have “loyalty” only when it’s convenient.
They’ll swear they’re committed…
until they get attention from someone new.
Then they start acting different.
Then they start hiding their phone.
Then they start picking fights with you for no reason.
Then they start acting like you’re the problem… just to justify what they want to do next.
And when it ends, they say:
“Love doesn’t exist.”
No.
Love exists.
You just didn’t choose it when it was tested.
Example 5: People hide their true intentions from day one
This is another harsh reality:
Some people know exactly what they want from you… but they won’t say it.
They know they don’t want commitment, but they’ll act committed to keep you around.
They know they want something casual, but they’ll talk like it’s serious to keep you emotionally involved.
They know they don’t see a future, but they’ll still take everything you offer—your time, your love, your body, your loyalty—because it benefits them.
And when you finally realize it, you feel used, and you start believing love is a scam.
But love didn’t scam you.
A person did.
Here’s the hardest truth to hear (but it’s real):
A lot of people are not evil.
They’re just immature.
And immaturity can destroy you the same way cruelty does.
Because immaturity still wastes your time and breaks your heart.
Why do people pretend like this?
Because they’re scared of rejection.
Because they don’t feel enough as they are.
Because they learned love is something you must earn by being perfect.
Because they saw social media couples and thought love is about impressing, not building.
Because they crave validation more than connection.
Because they want the feeling of being desired, but not the responsibility of being a partner.
And here’s where it becomes tragic:
The person who pretended also suffers.
Because pretending is exhausting.
You can’t act forever.
You can’t hold a mask on your face 24/7.
Sooner or later, you get tired.
Sooner or later, your real habits slip out.
Sooner or later, your real temper shows up.
Sooner or later, your real priorities become obvious.
Sooner or later, your real self demands space.
And when that happens, relationships don’t “randomly” fail.
They fail because the foundation was never honest.
So when people say “people change,” sometimes they’re right…
but not in the way they think.
A lot of people didn’t change.
They just stopped acting.
And if you’re reading this and it stings, let it sting.
Because the truth that hurts is often the truth that heals.
If you want real love, stop trying to be impressive.
Be consistent.
Be honest.
Be clear about what you want.
Be brave enough to show your flaws early.
Not all of them at once, not dumping your trauma on day one—
but enough honesty that the other person knows what they’re choosing.
Because love isn’t about trapping someone with your best version…
and then surprising them with the real one later.
Love is about being real from the start, so the person who stays…
stays for you.
Not for your mask.
And if you’ve been hurt by someone who pretended, don’t let it poison your belief in love.
Let it sharpen your standards.
Let it teach you to watch actions, not words.
Let it teach you to choose someone who is the same online and offline.
Let it teach you that consistency is romance too.
Because love is not fake.
What’s fake is what people do when they’re scared to be real.
> The biggest lie we tell: “We don’t care about looks, only personality"
Let’s be brutally honest for a second—because this is one of the biggest lies we tell to sound deep, mature, and “different.”
“We don’t care about looks, we care about personality.”
It sounds nice.
It looks good on social media.
It makes you look like you’re above everyone else.
But most of the time… it’s not true.
Not because people are evil.
Not because everyone is shallow.
But because we’re human.
And humans notice visuals first.
If looks didn’t matter at all, then explain this:
How many times have you ignored someone without even speaking to them… just because you didn’t feel attracted at first glance?
How many times have you made a judgment in 3 seconds—before you even knew their name?
How many times have you said “they’re not my type” without knowing a single thing about their heart, their intentions, their loyalty, their mindset, their character?
And that’s the truth that hurts.
We don’t reject people after knowing their personality.
Most of the time, we reject them before we even give them the chance to show it.
Because personality doesn’t walk into the room first.
Your face does.
Your style does.
Your grooming does.
Your body language does.
Your confidence does.
Your energy does.
And the moment you say “I only care about personality” while your actions prove otherwise, you create a world where everyone is confused and everyone is pretending.
Here’s what people don’t want to admit:
A lot of people say “personality matters” because they want to avoid looking superficial.
They want to feel morally superior.
They want to look like they have depth.
But when it comes to real choices, they still choose based on attraction first.
And listen—having preferences is not a crime.
It’s normal to want to be attracted to your partner.
What’s toxic is lying about it.
Because that lie does damage in two ways:
It makes people who aren’t “conventionally attractive” feel like they’re being rejected because they’re not good enough as a human being.
When in reality, it’s just attraction.
But the fake “personality” talk makes it feel like their whole existence wasn’t enough.
It makes people who are attractive think they don’t need character anymore.
Because they get chosen easily.
So they never develop emotional maturity, communication, accountability, patience—things that actually keep a relationship alive.
Now let’s talk about real-life examples, because you’ll recognize this immediately:
Example 1: “I want personality” but you won’t even start a conversation
Someone could be the kindest person alive.
Loyal, respectful, emotionally mature, supportive, hardworking.
But if they don’t look “presentable” to you—if they’re not dressed well, not groomed well, not your type—you won’t even give them a chance to speak.
You won’t even get close enough to experience their personality.
So how can you claim personality is everything when you never reach that stage with most people?
Example 2: The “best friend” excuse that hides the real reason
How many times do people say:
“I see you as a best friend.”
“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“You’re too important to me.”
Sometimes it’s genuine, yes.
But a lot of times the real reason is simpler—and harder to admit:
“I’m not attracted to you.”
And instead of being honest, people wrap it in a pretty sentence so they don’t feel like the villain.
That’s not kindness.
That’s comfort.
It protects their image, not the other person’s feelings.
Example 3: Dating apps exposed the truth we try to hide
Let’s not act like we don’t know this.
On dating apps, most people decide in seconds.
Swipe right. Swipe left.
No conversation. No values. No character check.
Just a picture and a vibe.
And then we come online and say “looks don’t matter.”
Be serious.
But here’s the deeper point most people miss:
When we say “looks,” we don’t just mean genetics.
We also mean effort.
Because effort shows self-respect.
It shows discipline.
It shows confidence.
It shows that you care about yourself enough to present yourself well.
And people are naturally drawn to that.
Not because they’re shallow—because it signals something deeper.
So the real truth is this:
Looks start the conversation.
Personality builds interest.
But character decides the future.
Because attraction without character becomes pain.
You can be crazy attracted to someone and still feel lonely with them.
You can love how they look and still feel disrespected.
You can be proud to post them and still cry in private because they don’t know how to treat you.
And the opposite is also true:
Someone can have a beautiful heart, but if there’s zero attraction, forcing it will eventually create resentment, distance, and frustration.
Because love isn’t charity.
It’s not a motivational speech.
It’s real life—two people sharing time, intimacy, problems, responsibilities, and a future.
So what should we say instead of lying?
Say the truth with maturity:
“I need attraction, but I won’t sacrifice values for it.”
“I want someone I’m drawn to, but I also need emotional safety.”
“I care about looks, but I care more about how you treat me when life gets hard.”
“I want chemistry, but I also want consistency.”
That’s real.
That’s honest.
That’s balanced.
Because the goal isn’t to pretend we’re above attraction.
The goal is to stop making attraction the only thing that matters.
If we keep lying about this, we’ll keep building relationships on fake philosophies.
And then when they break, we’ll blame love again.
When the truth is—we never approached love with honesty in the first place.
> Look at our parents: love wasn’t perfect, but it was serious
Now, I know this doesn’t apply to everyone, and not every marriage is healthy. Some people grew up in homes where love was missing, and I respect that reality.
But for many of us, our parents didn’t grow up with the same kind of social comparison we live in today.
A lot of our parents had arranged marriages. They were strangers.
They didn’t have “options” every day on their phone screen.
They didn’t have hundreds of people flirting in DMs.
They didn’t have constant content telling them, “If your partner isn’t perfect, replace them.”
They had each other. And they worked with what they had.
They fought.
They had good days.
They had bad days.
They got angry.
They stayed quiet sometimes.
But they still did the small things.
I still remember something like this: a fight happens, they’re not talking… but dinner still gets made. The plate still gets served. Not because anyone is a slave, not because anyone is lesser—but because care was still there under the anger.
And at some point, someone breaks the ice.
Someone softens.
Someone chooses peace.
That is love too.
Not the Instagram type.
Not the movie type.
The real type.
Because real love isn’t always butterflies.
Sometimes it’s patience while your ego screams.
Sometimes it’s effort when you’re tired.
Sometimes it’s choosing gentleness when you could choose cruelty.
> Our generation confuses ego with self-respect
One of the most dangerous mistakes we’ve normalized is this:
we’ve started calling ego “self-respect.”
And because it’s wrapped in “I know my worth” language, nobody questions it.
It sounds powerful.
It sounds mature.
It sounds like growth.
But most of the time… it’s just pride wearing a clean outfit.
Self-respect is real.
Ego is real too.
But they are not the same thing.
Self-respect protects your dignity.
Ego protects your image.
Self-respect says: “I won’t tolerate disrespect.”
Ego says: “I won’t tolerate being wrong.”
Self-respect says: “Let’s talk and fix it.”
Ego says: “Let them suffer. Let them beg.”
Self-respect says: “I’m hurt, but I still want peace.”
Ego says: “I’m hurt, so I want revenge.”
And the truth that hurts is this:
a lot of relationships don’t die because of cheating or a big betrayal.
They die because two people refused to lower their ego for five minutes.
Because both wanted to win.
Both wanted control.
Both wanted the last word.
Both wanted to feel like the “bigger person” without actually doing the bigger-person actions.
Here’s what it looks like in real life (and you’ll relate):
Example 1: “I won’t text first” culture
You had a fight.
You miss them.
You want to talk.
But you sit there like a statue because you think texting first means you “lost.”
So you tell yourself:
“If they cared, they would come first.”
Let’s be real.
Sometimes they’re also thinking the same thing.
Now both of you are suffering, not because love is gone…
but because ego wants someone to crawl.
That’s not self-respect.
That’s emotional hunger for power.
Example 2: Silent treatment dressed up as “space”
Taking space is healthy when you communicate it.
But many people don’t take space.
They punish.
They disappear for days.
They ignore calls.
They leave messages on seen.
They post stories like they’re living their best life.
And when the other person asks what’s going on, they say:
“I’m protecting my peace.”
No.
Peace doesn’t need performance.
Peace doesn’t need to hurt someone to prove a point.
That’s not peace.
That’s ego trying to look unbothered while it bleeds inside.
Example 3: Using “self-respect” to avoid apologizing
Some people would rather choke on pride than say two simple words:
“I’m sorry.”
They’ll say:
“I said what I said.”
“I don’t chase.”
“I don’t beg.”
“I’m not the type to apologize.”
And they call it self-respect.
But tell me honestly—what kind of self-respect is it when your ego is so loud that you can’t admit you hurt someone you claim to love?
That’s not strength.
That’s emotional immaturity hiding behind confidence quotes.
Example 4: Turning every disagreement into disrespect
This is another big one.
Not every disagreement is disrespect.
Not every different opinion is an attack.
Not every “you’re wrong” is humiliation.
Sometimes your partner is just human.
Sometimes they misunderstood you.
Sometimes you misunderstood them.
Sometimes tone was off.
Sometimes stress was high.
Sometimes both of you were wrong in different ways.
But ego takes normal friction and turns it into war.
Ego says:
“How dare you talk to me like that.”
“How dare you question me.”
“How dare you not agree.”
Self-respect says:
“Let’s slow down. What did you mean? What did I mean? Let’s fix this.”
Example 5: “I know my worth” used as a weapon
“I know my worth” is powerful when it means you won’t accept abuse.
But now people use it for everything—especially when they don’t want to compromise.
Partner asks for basic effort?
“I know my worth, don’t tell me what to do.”
Partner asks for clarity?
“I know my worth, I’m not going to explain myself.”
Partner asks you to communicate like an adult?
“I know my worth, I don’t do arguments.”
That’s not knowing your worth.
That’s protecting your comfort at the cost of someone else’s mental peace.
Let’s say the part nobody likes to hear:
Sometimes it’s not self-respect.
Sometimes it’s just entitlement.
Example 6: Wanting softness while giving coldness
A lot of people want a partner who is gentle, patient, understanding, romantic, loyal.
They want someone who communicates, reassures, stays calm, stays consistent.
But when it’s their turn to show those things, ego takes over.
They become harsh.
They become distant.
They become stubborn.
They become “I’m fine” when they’re not fine.
They become “whatever” when it matters.
And then they complain love isn’t working.
Love is working.
Your ego just won’t let you participate in it properly.
Here’s the line that separates self-respect from ego (read this twice):
Self-respect is leaving when you are being disrespected repeatedly, lied to repeatedly, abused, cheated on, manipulated, controlled.
Self-respect is refusing to shrink yourself for someone who doesn’t value you.
But ego is refusing to soften.
Ego is refusing to apologize.
Ego is refusing to listen.
Ego is refusing to repair.
Ego is treating love like a competition.
Ego is turning your partner into your enemy.
And the saddest part is… ego doesn’t just ruin relationships.
It ruins people.
Because ego will convince you that you’re “strong” while you’re actually becoming colder, harder, and more alone.
Self-respect doesn’t make you proud.
It makes you peaceful.
Self-respect is not “I will never bend.”
Self-respect is “I will not tolerate disrespect, but I will also not become toxic in the name of protecting myself.”
Because real love requires a kind of strength that ego doesn’t understand:
the strength to choose repair over revenge.
the strength to choose honesty over image.
the strength to choose peace over proving a point.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is not walk away.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say:
“I got hurt, but I don’t want to hurt you back.”
“I’m angry, but I still respect you.”
“Let’s fix this before it becomes bigger than us.”
That’s not weakness.
That’s maturity.
That’s love.
Because love isn’t two egos trying to win.
Love is two hearts trying to understand.
And the moment your ego becomes more important than your partner’s peace…
you’re not protecting your self-respect anymore.
You’re protecting your pride.
> YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN HAPPINESS.
Read that again, because most people hate this truth.
Not because it’s wrong—because it removes your favorite excuse.
Your partner is not your therapist.
Your partner is not your entertainment system.
Your partner is not a “mood fixer” whose job is to keep you okay 24/7.
Yes—love should support you.
Yes—your partner should care, show up, listen, and try.
But if your happiness depends on someone constantly proving your worth to you, you’re not looking for love… you’re looking for validation.
And validation is never enough. It will drain them and still leave you empty.
This is what’s happening these days:
People enter relationships with a checklist of demands, not a mindset of growth.
They want comfort, attention, effort, reassurance—without learning how to regulate their own emotions, communicate properly, or take accountability for their reactions.
Then when things feel heavy, they blame love instead of facing themselves.
The hardest part of maturity is understanding this:
If you can’t lift your own mood sometimes, if you can’t sit with your own thoughts, if you can’t handle your own insecurities—no relationship will save you.
You’ll just keep changing partners, calling it “bad luck,” while repeating the same patterns.
Real love isn’t: “Fix me.”
Real love is: “I’m working on myself, and I want you beside me.”
So yes, expect love.
But also bring something to it.
Bring peace, not chaos.
Bring honesty, not games.
Bring effort, not entitlement.
Bring responsibility, not excuses.
Because the moment you stop outsourcing your happiness to other people…
you stop turning love into pressure.
And that’s when love actually has room to breathe.
> Communication isn’t typing. It’s courage.
A lot of people think they’re communicating because they send texts.
But texting is not communication if:
- you avoid hard conversations
- you leave people confused on purpose
- you reply late to look “cool”
- you keep someone emotionally stuck because you like their attention
- you refuse to be clear about what you want
Some people keep others as “options,” not as humans.
They’ll say, “I appreciate you,” and then disappear for days.
They’ll watch your story, like your post, reply when they’re bored, and call that connection.
That’s not love. That’s not even friendship.
That’s feeding your ego.
And the worst part is, we normalized it.
We turned emotional inconsistency into a trend.
- “Nonchalant.”
- “Unbothered.”
- “Mysterious.”
No. Most of the time it’s just fear.
Fear of being seen.
Fear of being honest.
Fear of being rejected.
So we act like we don’t care, because caring is risky.
But love will always require risk.
> Fighting isn’t the enemy. Disrespect is.
Let me say something important, because people get this wrong all the time.
Every couple fights.
Every real relationship—one that actually matters—will come with misunderstandings, bad moods, stress, pressure, and days where life feels heavier than love.
So no, the goal isn’t “never fight.”
The goal is: when you fight, don’t forget you love each other.
Because there’s a difference between a fight and a war.
A fight is two people trying to protect what they feel.
A war is two people trying to destroy what they once promised to protect.
And what turns a fight into a war is not anger.
It’s disrespect.
It’s tone that cuts instead of talks.
It’s words thrown like knives.
It’s ego choosing victory over peace.
It’s bringing up old wounds just to win today’s argument.
It’s making your partner feel small just so you can feel big.
If your partner is going through something, don’t turn it into an argument competition.
Don’t make it about who’s right and who’s wrong.
Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is not speak immediately.
Not because you have nothing to say—
but because you care enough to not say the wrong thing while emotions are loud.
Listen first.
Understand first.
Let them breathe.
Let the storm pass.
Then talk.
Don’t react like fire to fire.
Because fire doesn’t prove a point—it only burns the house you both live in.
And remember this, always:
A relationship is not you vs them.
It’s both of you vs the problem.
The problem might be stress.
The problem might be insecurity.
The problem might be miscommunication.
The problem might be distance, exhaustion, responsibilities, or life being life.
But the moment you treat your partner like the enemy, you stop solving the problem—
you start creating new ones.
And if you can’t learn this, you’ll keep losing good people… just to protect your pride.
Because pride loves being right.
Love cares about being okay—together.
“Love birds” today give up too fast
People say they want love, but a lot of them don’t want the work that makes love real.
They want the feeling—without the foundation.
They want the magic—without the maintenance.
They want the highlight reel—without the behind-the-scenes.
They want:
dates
pictures
matching outfits
cute captions
“soft launches”
couple goals
They want love that looks good.
But the moment love asks them to grow, to stay steady, to be patient, to communicate, to be accountable—
suddenly it’s too much.
Because real love isn’t only candles and butterflies.
Real love is also patience when you’re tired.
Real love is also choosing softness when your ego wants to be cold.
Real love is also showing up on days where nothing feels romantic, but commitment still matters.
And the moment the relationship gets real—stress, distance, insecurity, responsibility—people panic.
They start saying:
“This is too much.”
“I’m not feeling it.”
“You changed.”
“I deserve better.”
Sometimes leaving is valid, yes.
Sometimes leaving is necessary.
Sometimes love isn’t safe, and walking away is the healthiest choice.
But a lot of the time? People don’t leave because the love is gone.
They leave because the honeymoon ended and reality arrived.
They leave because their patience is gone.
They leave because their attention found something newer.
They leave because they never learned to stay when feelings fluctuate.
That’s the part nobody likes to admit:
Feelings change.
Attraction changes.
Energy changes.
Life changes.
But commitment is the choice you make in the middle of that change.
This generation is obsessed with “spark.”
And spark is beautiful—don’t get me wrong.
But spark is not a strategy.
Spark is not a foundation.
Spark is not what holds you when life gets hard.
A relationship doesn’t survive because you always feel butterflies.
It survives because you both respect each other enough to keep choosing the bond when the butterflies go quiet.
Because you both understand that love is not just a feeling you fall into—
it’s a responsibility you grow into.
Commitment is not a prison.
Commitment is a decision.
A daily one.
Sometimes a quiet one.
Sometimes a hard one.
But always a meaningful one.
And if you can’t commit—if you’re not ready to communicate, to repair, to stay consistent—then don’t get someone emotionally attached to you.
Don’t take their time, their softness, their loyalty, their love… and then act surprised when they break.
Because the damage isn’t only in leaving.
The damage is in making someone believe in a future you never intended to build.
Love isn’t supposed to be effortless 24/7.
Love is supposed to be mutual.
Love is supposed to be honest.
Love is supposed to be two people learning each other, choosing each other, protecting each other—even when the world is loud and life is heavy.
So yes—fight sometimes.
But fight with respect.
Fight with the intention to repair, not to hurt.
And when things get hard, don’t confuse discomfort with incompatibility.
Sometimes it’s not “love dying.”
Sometimes it’s love asking you to grow up.
> "I see you as a best friend” — sometimes that’s just fear or ego
This one hurts because it doesn’t just reject your attraction.
It rejects your hope.
And hope is always the most fragile thing a person can hold.
When someone says, “I see you as a best friend,” it can land in your chest like a quiet collapse.
Because you’re not just hearing “no.”
You’re hearing:
“I feel safe with you… but I won’t choose you.”
“I like what you give me… but I won’t give you what you want.”
“I want your presence… but not your place.”
And if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that, you know it creates a confusing kind of pain.
Not the loud, dramatic heartbreak.
The slow one.
The one that sits in the background of your day.
The one that makes you question yourself quietly at night.
Because the bond is real.
The laughter is real.
The comfort is real.
The closeness is real.
And that’s what makes it harder to accept.
You start thinking: if we’re already this close, why isn’t that enough?
Why do I feel like home to you, but not like love?
And this is where people break themselves—
they start trying to become “enough.”
Enough effort.
Enough patience.
Enough kindness.
Enough availability.
Enough changes.
Enough proof.
Enough sacrifice.
But love doesn’t work like that.
You can’t negotiate your way into someone’s desire.
You can’t earn chemistry through loyalty.
You can’t perform your way into being chosen.
Sometimes “best friend” is genuine.
Sometimes they truly don’t feel romantic attraction, and it’s not their fault.
Attraction is complicated. It’s not always logical. It’s not always fair.
And they might still care about you deeply.
But sometimes… “best friend” is also a softer way of saying something people are scared to say out loud:
“I like you as a person, but I don’t want the responsibility that comes with choosing you.”
Sometimes it’s fear.
Because being with a best friend means the stakes are higher.
A stranger can be left without guilt.
A best friend can’t.
And some people are so afraid of ruining something good that they refuse to step into something real.
They choose safety over truth.
They choose comfort over commitment.
They choose the bond that asks less of them.
Sometimes it’s ego.
Because having someone who loves you—without you giving them clarity—feels powerful.
You become a source of validation for them.
They don’t want to lose you, because you make them feel important, desired, secure, wanted.
But they also don’t want to fully choose you, because choosing you means they have to show up properly.
It means consistency.
It means accountability.
It means effort that isn’t optional anymore.
So they keep you close… but not close enough.
That’s why it hurts so much.
Because you’re not fully rejected, but you’re not fully chosen either.
You’re placed in a space where you can’t move forward, and you can’t fully let go.
You become emotionally stuck—loving someone who benefits from your love while refusing to carry it with you.
And here’s the painful truth that people avoid:
Sometimes the reason isn’t that you’re “not good enough.”
It’s that you’re not their type.
And “type” can be many things—looks, height, lifestyle, status, social image, the kind of person they think they’re supposed to be with.
It’s shallow to admit, so people dress it up in prettier sentences.
They say “best friend” because it sounds kinder than saying “I’m not attracted to you.”
But honesty—even when it hurts—hurts less than confusion that lasts for months or years.
Now here’s what matters for your heart:
If someone says no, take it as a no.
Not because you’re weak for hoping, but because hoping in the wrong place turns into self-abandonment.
The saddest thing you can do is keep showing up as a lover in a space where they only want you as a comfort.
Because slowly, you start giving them the best parts of you—your loyalty, your attention, your softness—while you receive uncertainty in return.
And that imbalance will change you.
It will make you smaller.
It will make you doubt yourself.
It will make you resent your own feelings.
And the line that hurts the most but saves you the fastest is this:
Someone can care about you and still not choose you.
And if they don’t choose you, you must choose yourself.
Because “we’ll always be best friends” is not a promise life guarantees.
People move.
People marry.
People grow different directions.
And one day, the person who said “don’t worry, we’ll always be close” will be holding someone else’s hand, building a life where you don’t fit.
And you’ll sit there with memories, wondering why you stayed loyal to a position that was never yours.
Your feelings deserve clarity.
Your heart deserves honesty.
And you deserve a love where you don’t have to audition for the role you already give someone in your mind.
Because here’s the final truth—soft, but real:
The best friend who knows your worst, who still respects you, who laughs with you, who understands you… is rare.
And if someone can have that and still treat it casually, still keep it “half open,” still keep you waiting…
then the problem isn’t your value.
It’s their readiness.
Their courage.
Their ability to recognize peace when it’s in front of them.
And that’s why you must stop trying to be chosen by someone who is comfortable keeping you unchosen.
Because love should feel like home.
Not like standing outside the door, hoping they’ll finally let you in.
> Grand gestures aren’t love if they’re used as currency
Another mistake people make: doing too much too soon.
Writing letters, sending roses, planning dates, buying gifts—these things can be beautiful.
But if you’re doing it to convince someone to love you, it becomes transactional.
It becomes a performance.
It becomes pressure.
And yes, reality check: some people say they want romance, but they only want it from a specific person they already like.
If a random person does it, they might call it creepy.
If their crush does it, it’s “so sweet.”
That’s not always cruelty. It’s just attraction being what it is.
So here’s your self-respect rule:
Never chase someone who already showed you they don’t choose you.
Because you’ll turn love into begging, and that will destroy you.
Love should not be earned through humiliation.
So what is love, then?
Love is not just romance.
Love is not just sex.
Love is not just feelings.
Because feelings—no matter how pure—are not permanent.
Feelings are weather.
Some days they’re sunlight. Some days they’re storms.
Some days you feel obsessed, grateful, lucky, alive.
Some days you feel tired, irritated, misunderstood, heavy.
And if love was only a feeling, then love would die the first time life got real.
But real love doesn’t vanish when the mood changes.
Real love is what remains when the butterflies calm down and you still choose the person sitting beside you.
Not because the moment is perfect—
but because your bond is deeper than the moment.
Love is a bond.
A connection.
A promise.
Not a promise that you’ll never argue.
Not a promise that you’ll never hurt each other by accident.
Not a promise that life will always feel romantic.
It’s the promise that even when things get messy, you won’t become strangers.
It’s the promise that even when you’re angry, you won’t become cruel.
It’s the promise that even when you’re stressed, you won’t forget respect.
It’s the promise that even when attention tempts you, your character won’t betray your home.
Love is not “you complete me.”
That sounds romantic, but it can become a trap.
Because when you expect someone to complete you, you also expect them to carry your emptiness, your mood, your wounds, your happiness—everything.
And no human being can carry that without breaking.
Real love sounds more like this:
“I am learning myself. Healing myself. Building myself. And I choose you—not to fill a hole in me, but to share a life with you.”
Love is when your partner becomes more important than the version of yourself that always needs to be right.
Because ego wants victory.
But love wants peace.
Ego wants control.
But love wants understanding.
And if you’ve ever watched a good relationship fall apart, you already know this truth:
most love doesn’t die from one big moment.
It dies from small moments where pride was chosen over repair.
Love is when you stop keeping score and start building trust.
Because scorekeeping turns intimacy into a competition.
And love was never meant to be “who did more.”
Love was meant to be “we’re both trying, even when it’s hard.”
Love is:
- caring even when you’re angry — because anger is a moment, but respect is a decision
- showing up even when it’s inconvenient — because real love doesn’t only show up when it feels easy and fun
- speaking gently when your ego wants to hurt — because you can’t un-say words that land deep in someone’s chest
- choosing truth over performance — because you want to be known, not just admired
- staying consistent when attention tempts you — because loyalty is not about having no options, it’s about having values
- apologizing when you’re wrong — because maturity is choosing repair over pride
- learning your partner’s language — because love isn’t only what you feel, it’s what you make them feel
- protecting each other’s dignity — especially in arguments, especially when emotions are loud
- fighting for solutions, not victory — because it’s not you vs them, it’s both of you vs the problem
- building peace together — not just butterflies… peace that feels like home
Love doesn’t come with a help manual.
You don’t “master” love by reading quotes.
You learn it by living it—by making mistakes, by growing, by trying again, by learning how to speak when you’re hurt without trying to destroy, by learning how to listen without planning your next comeback, by learning how to hold someone’s heart like it’s something sacred—not something you throw around when you’re emotional.
And yes—sometimes love ends.
Sometimes love fails.
Sometimes people betray.
Sometimes someone promises you everything and then forgets you the moment their life gets busy or their attention finds something new.
Sometimes you love someone deeply and they still don’t have the emotional capacity to love you properly back.
But that doesn’t make love fake.
That makes people human.
That makes character rare.
That makes commitment sacred.
If someone cheated on you, don’t blame love.
Blame the character of the person who chose betrayal.
Love didn’t fail you—someone’s values did.
Someone’s self-control did.
Someone’s honesty did.
And here’s a truth that stings but saves you later:
Love is not blind, my friend. Sometimes we are.
We ignore signs because we want the fantasy.
We ignore values because we want the feeling.
We ignore inconsistency because we’re addicted to potential.
We fall in love with who someone could be… and then we call love a liar when they keep showing us who they actually are.
We don’t need “perfect” love. We need honest love.
Perfect love is what people perform online.
Honest love is what people build in private.
Perfect love looks good.
Honest love holds you when you’re not okay.
Perfect love is loud.
Honest love is steady.
This generation is so focused on standards that we forgot values.
And standards are fine—have them.
But ask yourself: are your standards protecting your peace… or feeding your ego?
Are they based on what will last… or what will look good in front of people?
Because if your standards are only about:
- looks
- money
- status
- aesthetics
…then you’re choosing a display, not a partner.
And displays don’t hold you at 2 a.m. when life falls apart and your chest feels heavy for no reason.
Displays don’t sit beside you in silence when you’re tired of being strong.
Displays don’t protect your heart when anxiety shows up or life hits you out of nowhere.
What holds you is:
- loyalty — when life tests you
- kindness — even when you’re annoyed
- maturity — when emotions run high
- emotional safety — where you can breathe, not perform
- communication — not just talking, but understanding
- effort — consistent, not occasional
- integrity — who they are when nobody is watching
- patience — when healing takes time
- accountability — when they’re wrong and don’t run from it
Because you can be beautiful and still be empty.
You can be successful and still be cruel.
You can be attractive and still be incapable of love.
So choose wisely—based on what will stand when the excitement fades and life becomes real.
A message to anyone losing hope
If you’ve been hurt, I’m not here to mock you.
If you’re tired, I understand.
If you feel like love is impossible, you’re not weak.
You’re human.
You cared deeply—and caring deeply always comes with risk.
But please don’t turn your pain into a belief system.
Don’t let one betrayal rewrite your entire heart.
Don’t let one careless person convince you that softness is stupidity.
Don’t become the kind of person who breaks hearts because your heart was broken.
Don’t become cold just because someone else was careless with you.
Because that’s how darkness spreads—
not through evil people,
but through good people who got hurt and decided love isn’t worth it anymore.
Love is still real.
Loyalty is still real.
Effort is still real.
It’s just rare—because it requires something most people avoid:
responsibility.
Responsibility for your words.
Responsibility for your actions.
Responsibility for your healing.
Responsibility for how you treat the person who chooses you.
If you want love, be someone love can live with
Not someone who only looks good online.
Not someone who confuses attention with affection.
Not someone who disappears and calls it “peace.”
Not someone who hurts and calls it “honesty.”
Not someone who avoids commitment and calls it “freedom.”
Be someone who is:
- consistent — the same energy, not random love
- honest — even when honesty is uncomfortable
- calm enough to listen — without trying to win
- strong enough to apologize — without making excuses
- mature enough to communicate — not punish with silence
- kind enough to try again — when it’s worth fixing
- real enough to be seen — without masks, without games
And here’s where the real reality hits—the part that forces you to look inward instead of pointing outward:
Before you say “love doesn’t exist,” ask yourself this in private, with no audience, no ego, no performance:
- Do I want love… or do I want attention?
- Do I want peace… or do I chase intensity and call it love?
- Do I communicate… or do I punish when I’m hurt?
- Do I love myself enough to walk away from confusion?
- Do I choose emotionally available people… or do I chase what feels familiar?
- Am I becoming better… or just becoming colder?
Because sometimes you’re not unlucky.
Sometimes you’re unhealed.
Sometimes you keep calling chaos “chemistry.”
Sometimes you keep choosing people who can’t love you properly because deep down you don’t believe you deserve steady love.
And if you ever find someone who brings you peace—
someone who doesn’t play games with your mind—
someone who chooses you with actions, not words—
don’t treat them like they’re replaceable.
Don’t confuse calm love for boring love.
Sometimes the biggest spark is safety.
Sometimes the deepest romance is consistency.
A diamond doesn’t look loud.
It just lasts.
I still believe in love.
Not the fake, perfect, movie love.
Not the Instagram caption love.
Not the “look at us” love.
I believe in the kind of love that builds.
The kind that grows with time.
The kind that fights and still cares.
The kind that chooses effort when feelings fluctuate.
The kind that turns two imperfect people into a safe place for each other.
And if you’re reading this and you feel something in your chest—
if you miss the idea of love being pure—
then maybe you don’t hate love.
Maybe you just hate what people turned it into.
So don’t give up.
Stop chasing attention.
Start chasing truth.
Start chasing values.
Start chasing your inner self—quietly, honestly—until you finally meet the version of you that’s been waiting to be chosen by you first.
Because love has always belonged to people who are brave enough to be real.
Final confession
I still believe in love.
Not the fake, perfect, movie love.
Not the Instagram caption love.
Not the “look at us” love.
I believe in the kind of love that builds.
The kind that grows with time.
The kind that fights and still cares.
The kind that chooses effort when feelings fluctuate.
The kind that turns two imperfect people into a safe place for each other.
And if you’re reading this and you feel something in your chest—
if you miss the idea of love being pure—
then maybe you don’t hate love.
Maybe you just hate what people turned it into.
So don’t give up.
Stop chasing attention.
Start chasing truth.
Start chasing values.
Start chasing your inner self—quietly, honestly—until you finally meet the version of you that’s been waiting to be chosen by you first.
Because love has always belonged to people who are brave enough to be real.
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