On Loss, Love, and Growth

If I died tomorrow, I could leave this world knowing I experienced great love. How many people can truly say that? To have loved deeply, to have felt the raw, all-consuming power of connection—that alone is a gift. It’s not something everyone gets to carry in their heart.

But sometimes, love lets go. And when it does, it’s not a punishment. There’s no blame in choosing oneself, nor in someone else choosing their path. It’s easy to give in to resentment, to let bitterness fester in the cracks left behind. It’s easy to grow angry at what could have been. But the real challenge—the real triumph—is in gratitude. Gratitude for the experiences, for the joy, for the pain. Because that pain means something. It signifies love.

Pain, for all its harshness, is visceral. It reminds you that you’re alive, that you’re human. The deeper the ache, the deeper the love you carried. And that’s okay. You loved, and you loved hard. You did your best with what you knew at the time. That love, that effort—it doesn’t define you, but it shapes you. It teaches you. And as you learn, as you grow, you will love better down the line.

Sometimes, the greatest truth is realizing you can’t give someone what they need because you haven’t yet given it to yourself. That’s not failure—that’s growth. How can you love someone fully, wholly, when you haven’t learned to love yourself? Growth isn’t linear; it’s messy, imperfect, and often uncomfortable.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to cry, to not want to get up some days. But treat yourself with the same kindness, love, and compassion you once gave to someone else. The truth is, this will get better. You will get better. Healing isn’t just about showing up at the gym or making external changes—though those can help. Healing requires you to dig deep, to sit with yourself in all your complexity, and to envision the person you want to become.

Healing is messy. It hurts. When you feel that pain, know it’s the wound mending itself. Cry when you need to. Hell, cry when you don’t need to. Let it out. Feel it all. Remind yourself of your humanity. Remind yourself that you loved with your whole heart, even if it wasn’t enough to keep the story going. And remind yourself, always, with compassion.

The end of one chapter isn’t the end of the book. You’re still here. You’re still the author, holding the pen in your hand. Right now, it’s okay to sit in the discomfort of what was lost, to honor the beauty of what you helped create. It mattered. You mattered. And when the time comes, you’ll turn the page.

Give yourself credit. You tried. You loved. You learned. And from this, you will grow. Move forward with grace, compassion, and self-love. Trust the process, and trust yourself.

Because in the end, you’ll be better for it.