Embracing the Risk

Hey everyone, it's been a while since I last poured my thoughts into a post like this. Lately, I've been ruminating a lot on love—not the fluffy, rom-com version we see in movies, but the raw, gritty reality of it. Love isn't just a feeling that washes over you; it's something you do, something you choose every single day. It's a verb, an action, a vibration you decide to put out into the world. And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realize how terrifying and beautiful that is. Today, I want to dive deep into this idea, exploring love as a deliberate pursuit, the vulnerability it demands, and ultimately, how it teaches us to heal. These are thoughts that have been swirling in my head for months, shaped by my own experiences and late-night journal sessions. Let's unpack it together.

Love as a Choice and an Action

First off, let's get this straight: love isn't passive. It's not something that happens to you while you're scrolling through your feed or binge-watching shows. No, love is a verb—it's action in motion. Think about it: when you love someone, you're choosing to seek them out, to pursue them not just in the exciting early days, but through the mundane and the messy. It's about giving of yourself—your time, your energy, your empathy—and in return, allowing yourself to be known.

I've come to see love as a vibration we emit, like a frequency we tune into and broadcast. We decide to put it out there, even when it's easier to hold back. In my own life, I've noticed how this choice plays out in small ways. Maybe it's reaching out to a friend who's going through a tough time, or making the effort to really listen to my partner after a long day. It's not always grand gestures; often, it's the quiet commitments that build over time.

But here's the kicker: this choice isn't one-sided. To truly love, you have to want to know the other person deeply—their quirks, their fears, their dreams. And that means opening yourself up to be known in return. It's a mutual exchange, a dance of revelation. Without that, it's not love; it's just surface-level affection.

The Vulnerability of Knowing and Being Known

Now, let's talk about the scary part—the vulnerability that comes with this kind of knowing. When you choose to love, you're essentially saying, "Here I am, all of me, ready to receive all of you." That openness? It's like handing someone a map to your soul, complete with all the hidden traps and treasures. You're vulnerable, exposed to potential harm, because the more you know someone, the more power you both have to hurt each other.

I've felt this firsthand in past relationships. The deeper you go, the more barriers you have to dismantle. But fear? Oh, fear is the ultimate barrier-builder. The greater your fear of getting hurt—maybe from past heartbreaks or insecurities—the more walls you put up. You start filtering what you share, holding back pieces of yourself to stay safe. And suddenly, that connection you crave? It's muffled, distant.

It's frightening because in this process of knowing, we're also made known. You can't take without giving; it's reciprocal. To receive someone's true self, you have to offer yours. And in that exchange lies the risk: knowledge is power, and power can wound. I've lost count of the times I've hesitated to share a vulnerability, worried it could be used against me later. But holding back? That only starves the relationship.

True Love: Openness, Sacrifice, and Reckless Abandon

This brings me to what I believe is the essence of true, unconditional love: complete openness and a willingness to sacrifice parts of yourself. It's not about being a doormat or ignoring red flags—that's not love; that's codependency. No, it's a reckless abandon in the face of harm, a bold leap where you say, "I choose you, even knowing the risks."

Unconditional love demands that sacrifice of self. It's laying down your defenses, trusting that the connection is worth the potential pain. In my experience, the most profound loves in my life—romantic, familial, platonic—have all involved this element of abandon. It's scary as hell, but it's also liberating. When you stop clutching so tightly to self-protection, you make room for something deeper.

And yet, it's not blind recklessness. True love isn't just about enduring harm; it's about knowing how to heal it. That's the beautiful paradox: to truly know someone is to love them, and to truly love is to understand their pain and how to mend it. Love equips us with the tools for healing—empathy, patience, forgiveness. I've seen this in my own journey; the loves that have hurt me the most have also taught me the most about resilience and compassion.

Navigating the Balance: Fear, Barriers, and Healing

So, how do we navigate this? Fear will always be there, whispering doubts and urging us to build those barriers. But the key is recognizing that the more barriers we erect, the farther we drift from the object of our love—whether that's a person, a passion, or even self-love. It's a cycle: fear leads to walls, walls lead to isolation, isolation amplifies fear.

Breaking it requires intention. Start small: share a little more, listen a little deeper. Practice that reckless abandon in safe spaces first. And remember, love's ultimate gift is healing. When harm comes—and it will—love shows us how to repair, to grow stronger from the cracks.

In reflecting on all this, I've realized that love isn't about avoiding pain; it's about embracing it as part of the package. The knowing, the giving, the vulnerability—they all weave together into something transformative. It's not always easy, but damn, it's worth it.

Wrapping It Up: Choosing Love Every Day

At the end of the day, love is a choice we make over and over. It's an action we take, a vibration we emit, a pursuit that demands our whole selves. It's vulnerable, it's risky, but it's also the path to true knowing and healing. If you're reading this and nodding along, maybe it's time to examine your own barriers. What fears are holding you back from that reckless abandon?

I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments—have you experienced this kind of love? How do you balance vulnerability with self-protection? Let's keep the conversation going. Until next time, keep choosing love.

Cheers,
S