On being in love

What love feels like

I think most of what I’ve written about love has been… not great.

Not in the sense that it was bad writing, but in the sense that it was heavy and pessimistic. Complicated in a way that made love feel more like something to solve than something to feel.

It’s been a little over a month since I last wrote about it, and if I’m being honest, every time I have, it’s come with some kind of warning attached. That loving someone means giving something up. That if it doesn’t work out, I’ll carry it forever, because that’s just how I am.. That I don’t really trust people the way I think I should. That jealousy shows up even when I hate that it does.

All of that is still true.

I still overthink. I still get scared. I still don’t fully understand why trusting feels so hard for me.

But putting all of that aside — the fear, the overthinking, the what-if’s, what I’d have to give up, what’s going to happen with my life — I realized I’ve never really talked about what love actually feels like when you’re inside it and feeling it deeply.

Not the fear of losing it. Not the analysis of it. Just the feeling itself.

And it’s… strange. New.

Because it’s scary, obviously. It feels like opening something in you that you don’t fully know how to protect. You’re giving someone access to parts of you that could be hurt, and you don’t know what they’re going to do with that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.

But at the same time, it feels safe.

Not safe in the sense that nothing bad could ever happen, but safe in the sense that you trust the person enough to believe they wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. It feels like someone is looking out for you and your feelings. Like you’re being considered.

And that’s new for me.

I don’t feel like I have to hold myself back. I usually do. I filter things, I measure what I say, I keep parts of myself contained. But here, I don’t.

I can say whatever comes to mind, and it’s fine.

If I say something dumb, he laughs. If he says something dumb, he laughs. Nothing feels heavy, even when it kind of is. There’s no anger sitting underneath things. It’s mostly just… understanding.

I can say pretty much anything, and it’s okay.

There’s nothing I can say that’s going to push him away. There’s nothing I can say that’s going to change how he sees me, because he already saw everything.

And if I do hold back, he notices. And he tries to get it out of me.

I feel safe physically, too, which is something I didn’t realize mattered this much until I felt it. My limits are respected without me having to fight for that. There’s no tension around it.

It’s just… care.

I feel loved. I feel seen.

The things that matter to me matter to him too, even when they’re objectively small or kind of stupid. Like this Substack. It’s not monetized, it’s not strategic, it’s just something I do because I like to do. And somehow, it matters to him too. He reads my drafts without me even asking. He encourages me, and he’s my number one fan (according to Substack analytics and my own feelings).

That shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but it does.

He listens. Actually listens.

He’s not naturally the most romantic person in the obvious ways, but when I tell him something would mean something to me, I don’t feel like I’m begging. I just say it, and he takes it seriously. He goes out of his way to make it happen.

And that’s more meaningful than anything performative.

He’s careful with my feelings. Not in a suffocating way, but in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t want to hurt me. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I had it, because in the past, it felt like that was always missing. Like people would just do whatever they wanted and deal with the impact later.

This feels different.

I feel considered. Before and after,

And I hope he feels the same about me, even though I know I’ve hurt him before. And even if I don’t fully know how I could’ve acted differently, I still care. I’m still careful with him. Like we both care enough to be careful.

And then there’s this other layer of it that I don’t really know how to explain.

He’s just… a good person.

Not just to me, but to everyone. And there’s something about knowing that, and then realizing that someone like that chose you, that makes you pause a little.

Like, why me? Out of everyone, why me?

And when the answer is simply “because it’s you,” it makes you feel… special. You’re being chosen for exactly who you are. We chose each other, and we love it.

He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s attractive, and he’s my best friend. I trusted him even before any of this, and I trust him now in a different way.

So yeah, love is still scary.

You never really know what’s going to happen. You don’t know how it might end or how much it could hurt.

There are still practical things that don’t make sense. Distance. Careers. The fact that our lives might not align in the way we want them to.

All of that is real.

But right now, it just feels really, really good.

And for once, I’m letting that be enough.