I thought love was something I had to prove I deserved. I didn’t realize it was an endless assignment. I kept carrying more water, hoping that eventually I would have poured enough into someone else to finally receive the love I was trying so desperately to earn. But I was asking someone for water when they were thirsty too.

Now I understand: someone else’s inability to hold what I offer does not determine its value. I don’t have to pour myself empty to prove that I am lovable. I am worthy before I ever pour a drop.

I used to think healing would make life easier. Instead, it made me harder to hijack. The interruptions didn’t disappear—I simply learned to meet them with a little more presence, a little more humor, and a lot more grace.

I spent years believing unconditional love was something you gave everyone else. Then I discovered the person I’d forgotten to include was me. Healing didn’t teach me to become someone worthy of love—it taught me to love the woman who had been here all along.