Love That Stays
There's this illusion that love is supposed to be easy once you find your forever person.
But anyone who's been in it long enough knows—love isn't always soft.
It's the slammed doors, the tired eyes, the moments you don't recognize yourself or the person sitting next to you.
It's holding someone when they're breaking, even when your own knees are shaking.
It's wanting to walk away but remembering that leaving won't fix what's unraveling inside either of you.
It's the choice to stay—not because it's perfect, but because something in you still believes it's worth the fight.
This isn't the kind of love you post about.
It's the kind that tests your patience, your pride, your ability to show up when you'd rather shut down.
It's the kind that teaches you what grace actually means.
Being loved on my bad days doesn't look like it does in the movies. It seems like attitude, frustration, yelling, tears, and complete ups and downs. It's messy. It's unpredictable. It's human.
When I'm breaking down, I test the people who love me without even realizing it. I push with words that cut too deep. I turn kindness into suspicion. I assume love has an expiration date.
Sometimes I choose old pain over new risk because at least it's predictable. I can get cold-hearted. It depends on the day.
But no matter how bad it gets, my husband always finds his way back to me. He's been doing that since we were kids.
We've known each other since we were eleven, and for years it was this back-and-forth story—me running, him running, me running, him…
He'd try to fix things, I'd push harder, or vis a versa.
But now…we know how to stay.
Being loved like that feels like a long, grounding hug. The kind that doesn't demand words—just patience and presence.
My husband’s bad days look different. Sometimes he needs closeness, sometimes space. It changes, and that's okay. We are still learning to communicate, to read the room before reacting.
When I'm running on empty, love becomes teamwork. We don't let each other carry the weight alone.
Sometimes the relationship only runs at 40%,
but it's ours to share. Some days I give more, other days he does. That's partnership—it isn't about perfection, it's about presence.
The hardest part of loving someone through something you can't fix is the helplessness.
Watching someone you love struggle and realizing love doesn't heal everything.
You can sit beside them, but you can't pull them out.
That's the part that breaks you a little—when love isn't enough to make it stop hurting.
Still, love doesn't keep score. It just keeps showing up. It's frustrating, it's exhausting, but it's the choice to stay.
I've realized true love isn't the pretty kind you see in stories.
It's the survival kind. It's choosing each other every single day, no matter how hard the day gets. It's not perfect, but it's beautiful in its own way.
When we're both off our game, we remind ourselves that this will pass. We'll find our way back, even if it's through silence or slow repair.
Guilt has a voice of its own—it whispers I'm failing them, even when I've done everything I could. It tells me I should've had more to give. That I should've tried harder. But guilt isn't love.
Guilt says you're not enough.
Love says you're human.
And even when it hurts, even when the weight feels heavier than it should, I still choose him.
Not because it's easy, but because that's the person I want beside me for the rest of my life.
Forgiveness has become a quiet act of release for me. It's not approval. It's not saying what happened was okay. It's just deciding I'm done carrying it.
When I'm truly down, the first sign is usually clutter. A cluttered space turns into a cluttered mind, and everything starts to snowball.
That's when my husband steps in. He'll clean up, do something small but meaningful. He knows it's not about the mess—it's about helping me breathe again.
Love has boundaries, too. Understanding says, I love you, but this can't continue. Enabling says, I love you, so I'll tolerate it.
The difference is love with accountability. You can't save someone by softening every edge. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let the weight of their choices touch them.
Love has also changed the way I see myself. I used to believe I was difficult to love. Too much, too emotional, too complicated. But it's taught me that softness doesn't cancel out sharp edges.
You can be messy and still worth loving deeply.
Love didn't make me less "difficult." It made me realize that difficult people often feel the deepest—and that's not a flaw. That's a heartbeat.
Real, raw, unconditional love doesn't just exist in fairytales. It exists in people who are brave enough to see each other fully—the beauty and the chaos, the light and the dark.
It's not loud. It's not always fireworks or grand gestures. It's someone remembering your coffee order, noticing when your voice gets small, texting Made it through today? Just to check in.
If you've never known that kind of love, start by giving it to yourself. Learn to stay through your own storms.
Speak to yourself softly instead of with shame. That's where it begins—by refusing to treat yourself like someone unworthy of care.
Even when I look angry or say things I don't mean, sometimes all I really need is a hug.
And if love had a texture, it would be a multi-sided nail file. Smooth, rough, coarse, and exhausting—sometimes, all in one day. But it will always be worth it.
Because love isn't proven on the easy days.
It's proven in the ones that test everything—and still, somehow, we choose each other again.
Real love isn't about always getting it right. It's about being willing to come back after you don't.
It's the apology without excuses, the hug that lasts a few seconds longer than your ego wants.
Because at the end of the day, love isn't proven in the highlight reel—it's proven in the hard days.
In the 2 a.m. silences.
In the arguments that end with "I'm still here and I still love you."
In the small, unseen ways, we choose each other even when we don't have the words.
IMBHO—love is about finding your home. Your peace. That one person you can walk through every trial and tribulation with, yet still create some of the best moments of your life.
The kind of love that whispers, "even when you're not easy to love, I still love you."
