When Love Isn’t Enough
June 08, 2025
He may have believed he loved me. But if that love didn’t hold me, protect me, or help me grow — then it wasn’t enough. And I get to say that now.
Just a few days ago, I felt a wave of deep love for my father.
I remembered moments that hinted at care, at sacrifice, at something noble hidden beneath his distance.
And I let myself feel it.
Maybe that was love.
Maybe he did love me — in the only way he knew how.
But now, with space and reflection, something else has emerged:
Indifference. Or maybe something quieter than that — clarity.
🧠 The Inner Child Needed to Believe
For most of my life, a younger part of me had to believe he loved me.
Because the alternative — that he pushed me away, rejected me, or simply didn’t know how to be with me — was too painful to face.
So I protected him in my mind.
I made his silence into strategy.
His absence into sacrifice.
His coldness into care.
That story helped me survive.
But it didn’t help me heal.
🪨 Now I See It Differently
Now, I can say:
Even if he believed he loved me, I don’t agree with how he showed it.
And I don’t have to carry the burden of trying to make it enough.
I get to decide what love is for me now.
I get to say:
- Love isn’t silence.
- Love isn’t abandonment.
- Love isn’t something that leaves a hole in your chest and calls it protection.
🧭 Love That Isn’t Felt Isn’t Love That Heals
Maybe he loved me.
But if that love didn’t hold me, protect me, nurture me, or make me feel safe —
Then it wasn’t the kind of love I needed.
It might’ve been love in his mind.
But it didn’t land.
It didn’t reach.
And it didn’t raise me.
And that’s not bitterness.
That’s truth.
💬 I’m Not Angry Anymore. Just Clear.
He doesn’t get to define what love means for me anymore.
He doesn’t get to have the final word — because he’s gone.
And because I’m no longer the child hoping he’ll come back in some better form.
I’m the one who defines love now.
And I want a kind of love that shows up.
That holds.
That stays.
That doesn’t confuse or control or vanish.
And if what he gave me doesn’t meet that standard?
I’m allowed to let it go.
🕯 What Remains
I honour the boy who wanted so badly to be loved.
I honour the man I’ve become who now sees clearly why that love was never enough.
And I walk forward with the kind of love I needed back then —
the kind I now know how to give to myself.
Soft. Present. Clear.
Enough.