I grew up feeling like love was something I had to earn.
Every compliment felt conditional, every bit of attention came with unspoken expectations. Deep down, I never truly felt wanted just for being me.
As I got older, I craved connection—but real intimacy terrified me.
I kept people at arm’s length, afraid that if they saw the real me, they’d leave. It took years before I realized that my past was shaping my relationships in ways I hadn’t even noticed.
Healing didn’t happen overnight, but once I started working through my past, everything changed.
I began to see love differently—not as something to chase or prove myself worthy of, but as something I already deserved.
1) Love felt like a transaction
As a kid, I learned that love wasn’t freely given—it had to be earned.
Whether it was through achievements, good behavior, or meeting expectations, affection always seemed to come with conditions.
Over time, this shaped the way I approached relationships. I believed that if I wasn’t constantly proving my worth, people would lose interest in me.
Every connection became a test, and I was terrified of failing.
But real love isn’t something you have to barter for. It took me years to unlearn this belief and realize that the right people don’t love you for what you do—they love you for who you are.
2) I pushed people away before they could leave
For the longest time, I believed that if someone got too close, they’d eventually see something in me that would make them walk away. So, to protect myself, I did it first.
I remember one relationship in particular. Things were going well—we laughed a lot, shared personal stories, and for the first time in a while, I felt safe.
But then, almost without thinking, I started pulling back. I picked fights over small things. Ignored messages. Convinced myself they didn’t really care about me.
In reality, they had done nothing wrong. I was just so afraid of being abandoned that I tried to control the outcome by leaving first.
It took me a long time to realize that my fear of intimacy wasn’t about other people—it was about the walls I had built to keep myself safe.
3) Vulnerability felt dangerous
Opening up to someone always felt like a risk I wasn’t willing to take. If I shared too much, I feared it would be used against me later.
So I kept my guard up, avoiding deep conversations and steering clear of anything that made me feel exposed.
Psychologists call this an attachment wound—a deep-seated fear that stems from early experiences where emotional needs weren’t fully met.
When a child learns that being vulnerable leads to rejection, criticism, or indifference, they carry that lesson into adulthood, often without realizing it.
It wasn’t until I started recognizing this pattern in myself that things began to change.
I had to rewire the belief that vulnerability equals weakness and start seeing it for what it really is—the foundation of real connection.
4) Attachment led to suffering
Buddhism teaches that attachment is the root of suffering, and for a long time, I didn’t understand what that really meant.
But looking back, I can see how much of my pain came from clinging too tightly—whether to relationships, past wounds, or the idea of who I thought I needed to be to deserve love.
I was so afraid of losing people that I never let myself fully experience connection in the first place.
Instead of embracing love as something freely given, I treated it as something fragile—something that could be taken away at any moment.
In my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I explore how Buddhist principles can help us break free from these unhealthy attachments and live with greater peace and confidence.
Letting go doesn’t mean pushing people away—it means releasing the fear that keeps us from experiencing real intimacy in the first place.
Once I started embracing this mindset, everything shifted. Love wasn’t something to grip tightly in fear—it was something to flow with, moment by moment.
5) I didn’t trust the good moments
Even when things were going well, I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. If someone showed me love, I questioned it. If a relationship felt safe, I wondered how long it would last before something went wrong.
Happiness felt temporary, like something that could be taken away at any moment. So instead of enjoying the good moments, I braced myself for disappointment.
In a way, expecting the worst gave me a sense of control—if I saw it coming, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.
But all this did was rob me of real connection. I wasn’t protecting myself; I was keeping myself from fully experiencing love when it was right in front of me.
It took time to unlearn that instinct, to stop seeing love as a risk and start seeing it as something worth embracing—no matter what happens next.
6) Independence became a prison
For years, I prided myself on being independent. I didn’t need anyone. I handled things on my own. If something hurt me, I kept it to myself and moved on.
At first, this seemed like strength. But over time, I realized it wasn’t independence—it was fear. I wasn’t choosing to stand on my own; I was avoiding the vulnerability of relying on others.
True independence isn’t about shutting people out. It’s about knowing you can stand alone but allowing yourself to lean on others when you need to. Learning that difference changed everything.
7) I confused intensity with love
For a long time, I believed that love had to feel overwhelming.
If a relationship didn’t come with extreme highs and lows, if it didn’t consume my thoughts or make my heart race, I assumed something was missing.
But intensity isn’t the same as love. Chaos, jealousy, and emotional rollercoasters can feel addictive, but they don’t necessarily mean deep connection.
Sometimes, they’re just a sign of unhealed wounds playing out in real time.
Real love is steady. It feels safe. It doesn’t leave you guessing where you stand.
Learning to appreciate the quiet, consistent kind of love—rather than chasing the dramatic kind—was one of the biggest shifts in my life.
8) Love was always there—I just didn’t know how to receive it
For so long, I believed I had never been truly loved. But the truth was, love had been around me in ways I didn’t recognize—through small gestures, quiet support, and people who cared even when I couldn’t see it.
I was so focused on the kind of love I thought I needed that I missed the love that was already there. And because I didn’t believe I was worthy of it, I struggled to accept it when it came my way.
The hardest thing wasn’t finding love—it was learning how to let it in.
Bottom line: Love was never the problem
For years, I thought the issue was that love had been missing from my life.
But the more I worked through my past, the more I realized—love was always there. The real challenge was my ability to recognize it, trust it, and allow myself to receive it without fear.
Healing wasn’t about chasing love or finding the right person to fill a void. It was about undoing the barriers I had built over time, the ones that kept me from truly experiencing connection.
And often, those barriers were just old wounds disguised as protection.
In my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I explore how letting go—of attachment, fear, and self-doubt—can open us up to deeper relationships, not just with others, but with ourselves.
Learning to receive love is just as important as learning to give it.
Love was never the enemy. Fear was. And once I stopped seeing love as something dangerous, I finally understood what it meant to be free.
