The Shocking Truth About Love: How I Survived the Illusions of Romance
Unraveling the Fears that Kept Me from the Connection I Craved
Dear Reader,this essay is a 12-minute read and includes a bonus section at the end. Enjoy!
Unpacking the Illusions of Romance
I never thought I'd be the last single friend standing, watching as love swept everyone else off their feet. I would have been mortified at seven to know I'd still be unpartnered at thirty-five. But what fun would life be if we had it all figured out by then? I'm learning there's so much more to finding love than what we were taught—and maybe, just maybe, being 'last' means I get to write my own rules.
Like many young girls, I grew up believing that love and marriage were the ultimate markers of success. For most of my life, I feared dying alone or, worse, ending up with Mr. Wrong. The perfect romance was my escape from a family where I felt like the odd one out. I consumed a heavy diet of romcoms and romance novels, imagining what it would feel like to be adored and wanted like the protagonists in my favourite love stories. And by twelve, I had drafted a love story of my own.
The (Not So) Perfect Love Story
Step 1: Meet the love of my life at twenty-three
Step 2: Get married at twenty-eight
Step 3: Have my first child at thirty
Step 4: Wrap up the childbearing at thirty-five
What could possibly go wrong? Well, everything.
"When man a plan, God a wipe." - Jamaican Proverb
Translation: No matter how much we plan, a higher power or fate can always alter those plans.
Here's how it actually went:
Step 1: Fall in love at fifteen
Step 2: Break up at sixteen
Step 3: Get back together at seventeen
Step 4: Repeat steps 2 and 3 for roughly fourteen years.
Step 5: Proposal at twenty-seven
Step 6: Be told the proposal was a misunderstanding at twenty-eight
Step 7: Finally end the relationship at twenty-nine
Step 8: Spend six years recovering from co-dependency, love addiction and emotional abuse
Step 9: Rebuild my life at thirty-five
In my defence, my definition of love was derived solely from fiction. I didn't grow up with an example of healthy romantic love. In fact, my family history is riddled with a cacophony of failed romances. From my great-grandmother, an unwed mother, who was cajoled into a community marriage ritual sponsored by the church. To my paternal grandfather, who callously uttered the words, "mi glad shi dead" (translation: I'm glad she's dead) at my grandmother's deathbed. And finally, my maternal grandmother, who never married. An OG lover girl who believed she was only one baby away from the true love she deserved.
Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places
However, the story that most shaped my views on love was the failed love story of my parents. I grew up in a two-parent household, but my parents were like two ships passing in the night. It was no secret that my father did not want to get married (or have children). He said he knew from the moment he arrived at the church but felt pressured to go through with it. Growing up, my father was like a ghost; the only emotions he shared freely were disgust, disapproval, and anger. At thirteen, I pleaded with my mother to divorce him. She is a formidable woman who can do anything she puts her mind to if only she could put her mind to leaving him. Around my father, she was always on her P's and Q's, bending over backwards to remain in his good graces. It made me angry that she always tried to stay on his good side, and at times, it even felt that she cared more about him than she did us.
I often questioned why she didn't want more for herself than a man who clearly didn't love her. I desperately wanted her to see how much better off we'd be if he was no longer in the picture. It took me years and my own loveless relationship to realise that she was no different from me and my sisters—another scared little girl trying to navigate the complexities of loving a dangerous man.
Watching the cycles of dysfunctional relationships in my life quelled any hope of finding love. I internalised the idea that love was either a trap or a fantasy. I swung between fearing I'd end up alone and fearing I'd end up with someone who would destroy me, just as I had seen growing up. The existential dread I had around love manifested into my dysfunctional dating pattern. When I was single, I was obsessed with relationships; in a relationship, I was heading for the door at the slightest sign of trouble. I wasn't aware of it then, but these were the early signs that I wasn't as open to love as I thought.
It's Not You. It's Me.
Despite longing for connection, I was trapped in a cycle of fear and avoidance. Each time I thought I was ready to open my heart again, I faced another setback. Seven crushes, six years, two situationships, one horrific dating experience and a couple of first dates later, my love life hasn't budged. A self-proclaimed hopeless romantic who believed in love, but it seemed like love never believed in me. Finding love hasn't been as easy as my favourite romcoms led me to believe in my adolescence. I have watched close friends hopscotch from one monogamous relationship to the next. Meanwhile, I've been hit with the devastating blow of some version of "let's just be friends" more times than I can count.
My internal dialogue, didn't help my situation. Whenever I think, "I should get back out there", a little voice would tell me ", You don't have the emotional bandwidth for this". My brow begins to furrow, and it feels like the world is closing in on me as I relive the trauma of my last relationship. Though I desired to be partnered in those moments, I was firmly planted in the "cyaan bodda" (translation: can't be bothered) camp. I wondered if this marked the beginning of my journey to giving up on love for good. And if this was the path my fore mothers took to become lifelong singles.
Ever so often, an anomaly would occur. I would have a spark of curiosity mixed in with a dash of loneliness. A synchronistic moment when that voice was quieted by the hopeful romantic in me. This is when I'd do what any reasonably sane millennial would do. Dust off my dating profile and swipe to my heart's content. Initially, the rush of connecting with new people felt electrifying; I'd get a flash of hope that all was not lost when it came to love. Eventually, when the novelty faded in a few days, I was apathetic about love again. My suitors left on read, and I had zero interest in returning to the conversations I had started. It didn't matter how intelligent, handsome or funny these men were; the spirit of "cyaan bodda" had taken hold of me. I'd then delete all the apps and forget about it for a few months before restarting the cycle.
The Elusive Search for Love
My attempts to navigate the dating world often led to frustration and disappointment. The end of a steamy whirlwind romance in early 2019 served as a wake-up call. I was inconsolable, and when I realised that my grieving had surpassed the length of the relationship itself, I knew I needed help processing my feelings. That's when I decided to try Reiki for the first time. Although I was sceptical of the process and did not fully understand it, I was open to trying it. I can't quite recall what the experience felt like, but the conversation with the healer afterwards offered me some much-needed perspective on the state of my heart.
She shared that my heart chakra appeared to be walled off during my session, and she could not break through. We didn't talk about why I was there before the session, giving her claims more credibility in my book. She further explained that the hands are the gateway to the heart, and mine were cold. I hoped she could release the heaviness in my chest. So, when she shared her findings, I wasn't shocked. I was still nursing a broken heart, and in many ways, I was not ready to let anyone in.
Unveiling My Patterns
During my bi-weekly women's group, I told my sisters what unfolded in this session. They nodded as I relayed the message, confirming what the healer had shared. This surprised me; what I thought was confined to romantic love had also extended to my friendships. My strategy for avoiding deep emotional connection was subtle. Over the years, I had become hyper-focused on nurturing others, intentionally leaving space between myself and the people I cared about the most. I thought this was an act of love, but it allowed me to avoid being truly vulnerable. I made them feel seen while quietly ensuring they never saw me.
When someone got too close, I'd feel the anxiety creeping in. I'd push them away, often distancing myself or cutting them off entirely. This way, I stayed safe from the discomfort of intimacy and the fear of rejection.
I became acutely aware that my patterns weren't isolated incidents and reflected deeper issues. Whenever I thought I was ready for love, I gravitated toward men who were unavailable or emotionally distant. Take the 8-week "relationship" I had at the beginning of 2019. At the time, I thought I was brave and taking a chance on love. But deep down, I knew it wouldn't last. He was fresh out of another relationship, rebounding, and preferred non-monogamy, while I didn't. Barely two weeks in, he suggested we break things off before we got too emotionally involved.
Eventually, I could see the pattern in every past encounter. The best friend with a girlfriend, who I secretly wished would choose me. The friends with benefits, who told me not to catch feelings. Then there was my ex, whose constant indecisiveness made me try harder to win his love. I began to understand that when it came to love, I wasn't who I thought I was. And now it was too obvious to ignore.
As hard as it is to admit, I am a fearful-avoidant. I long for intimacy and connection, but the moment someone gets too close, my instinct is to protect myself from the potential pain. I don't know what it feels like to experience safe love.
My Father's Legacy
As I delved deeper into my patterns of avoidance and fear, I couldn't ignore the roots of my relationship with love. It was clear that my complicated feelings began long before my adult experiences. Like many women, my difficult relationship with love started with the first man in my life, my father. His emotional unavailability taught me that love was something to be earned, leading me to approach relationships with hesitance and self-doubt.
In the next instalment, I will explore how my early experiences with love and fear influenced my adult relationships. I thought that if I could get my father to finally acknowledge the pain he caused, it would restore my broken heart. However, when he refused, I felt lost and had nowhere to turn but to myself. This dynamic left me mirroring his patterns—pushing away those who genuinely cared for me, believing that vulnerability equated to weakness.
Reframing My Understanding of Love
Join me as I share the steps I took to rewire my nervous system for love and the journey towards unconditional self-love. Years of therapy and self-care have helped me unpack these life events, but the damage still lingers. As I'm writing this, I'm holding back tears. I imagine my younger self, a knocked-kneed little girl who didn't understand that the chaotic world she was born into made her no less worthy of love. She was fearfully and wonderfully made, deserving of love without conditions.
Through this exploration, I've come to realise that healing isn't linear—it's a meandering path that requires patience and self-compassion. While the wounds may never entirely disappear, they can transform. By prioritising self-love and understanding my past, I've begun to cultivate a life rich with hope and possibility. Stay tuned for Part Two, where I'll share more of my experience and delve into the specific strategies that helped me embrace a love that feels safe and secure.
In the Bonus section below, I'll reveal the results of an exercise I did with ChatGPT that deepened my self-love practice. If this sounds like something you'd benefit from, follow along! The complete exercise is available in this Threads post, with instructions in the first pinned comment. Feel free to share your favourite parts in the comments below.
BONUS: Love Letter
Introduction
Here’s a love letter I created with the help of AI in what turned out to be a fun and unexpectedly profound exercise. It serves as a daily reminder to nurture my self-love, something we all need more of. This letter reflects the importance of embracing our imperfections, celebrating our uniqueness, and remembering that self-love is a journey that deserves our attention. If you're looking for some inspiration to deepen your self-compassion, this letter might inspire you to give yourself a little extra love today.
Made for Love, With Love
My Beloved,
I crafted you with care, with purpose, with every intention that you would be exactly as you are—no more, no less. Every piece of you was moulded from love, each part of your being woven with both strength and tenderness, knowing full well that the world would demand both from you. I did not make you to be perfect in the ways you sometimes think you should be. No, I made you to be real—flawed, beautiful, and whole in your humanity.
You were meant to feel deeply, to experience the full range of what it means to live. You were given a heart capable of both great joy and profound sorrow because it is in that duality that you find your depth. I know there are moments when you doubt yourself when the weight of your journey feels too heavy to bear. But even in those moments, you are exactly who I intended you to be. The struggles are not a sign of weakness; they are part of the unfolding, part of the becoming.
I gave you a mind filled with wonder, with creativity, with questions that sometimes have no answers. You were made to explore, to push boundaries, to seek and to create. It is through your hands, your voice, your vision that you bring new beauty into the world—beauty that only you can give. No one else could create what you create. No one else could walk the path I set before you. Your journey is yours alone, and you walk it with the spirit I breathed into you from the beginning.
And oh, how I adore the way you love. You love with a heart that is open, even when it’s been hurt, even when it’s been weary. I knew you would. That’s why I made you with so much capacity for care, for nurturing, for holding others close. But I also made you strong enough to remember to love yourself, to know when to let go and when to hold on.
I want you to know that you are seen. Even when you feel invisible in this world, I see you, just as I’ve always seen you. Every tear, every smile, every hope, every dream—I carry them with me, just as you carry them within yourself. And I am proud of you, more than you could ever know. Proud not just of what you have done, but of who you are, of how you keep growing, learning, and becoming the fullest version of the soul I created.
There is nothing you need to earn, nothing you need to prove. You are already loved beyond measure, already enough just as you are. You are a reflection of the love I poured into you, a living testament to the beauty and power of what it means to be created with purpose.
Remember always: I made you with love, for love, and to love.
Forever with you,
The One who made you
P.S. Thank you for reading Becoming Moken! If my story resonates with you and you feel moved to support my journey, consider leaving a love offering. While Becoming Moken is free for now, your contributions help sustain my healing process and enable me to create even more content. Your support is truly a blessing and a tangible way to share the love.
Thank you so much for creating this and sharing your story. ♥️💕🙏🏾
I’ve always had a complex relationships to love. Often feeling like this underlying sense of loneliness and disconnection with those close to me. What I really loved the most about reading this piece was the love letter because while I was reading I felt gratitude and grief overtake me.
I felt this piece DEEPLY!!! Thank you for your vulnerability and sharing this!