One of the most lingering moments came when Allie, the best friend, tries to untangle what to do about her ex-boyfriend. Her mother told her to never give up on love before she passed, and Allie has been carrying that ever since — watching her father stay devoted no matter how difficult things became, wanting that kind of love for herself. She wonders if walking away means she isn’t listening. If choosing herself means she’s breaking a promise to someone she can’t ask anymore.

I sympathized with her immediately. How a phrase meant to offer guidance can become its own quiet battleground — the words the same, the meaning entirely shaped by where we stand when we hear them.

A younger version of myself would have interpreted those words exactly the way Allie did. That I needed to keep giving and giving no matter how empty I was, fighting for something that no longer was aligned.

The Fear Underneath the Holding On

I was so afraid of being unlovable if I didn’t sacrifice myself for others. Rather than understanding that loving myself should always come first, and that the right people will stay and the people not in alignment will fall away in a variety of ways.

I’ve had relationships I always felt not quite connected to and yet held on to tightly out of fear. And yet, looking back, I know I was asking for them to be removed and they were. Sometimes more painfully, the harder I was gripping. Other times more gently when I released without grappling to keep what was meant to flow out.

The holding on was never really about them. It was about what I believed I deserved. About the story I was telling myself — that love was something I had to earn by showing up for everyone else first.

That story kept me tethered. And it kept me small.

What the Shore Knows

I try to live my life the same way the shore holds the ocean. Embraces what comes in, loving it while it’s there, and then releases with grace when it’s time — knowing what was once there will be replaced with another wave soon.

The shore doesn’t fight to keep the ocean and the ocean doesn’t fight to stay on the shore. There’s a trust, a deep knowing that what’s meant to be will always find a way. And as long as the moon lights the night and speaks to this earth, the ocean and shore will find each other time and time again, experiencing each other in a new way every single time.

For the ocean never witnesses the exact same shore, nor does the shore embrace the exact same piece of the ocean. There’s a beauty in the endless faith that comes from trusting their own journeys. From loving their own path and how they experience one another.

This is what releasing what no longer serves you actually looks like in practice. Not detachment. Not indifference. Full presence, full love and then full release.

The Reframe That Changed Everything

Learning to let go of what’s meant to leave is a form of loving yourself. Holding on to things that no longer resonate only hurts us, keeps us tethered to the past rather than aiding in our expansion.

It took me a while to realize that. And though it doesn’t strip away the pain of endings, I choose to trust that when they occur, it’s for my greatest good. It’s not about eliminating pain, this human life is about experiencing the entirety of emotions, but in knowing that the pain serves a greater purpose. And having faith that if something leaves, something greater will take its place.

And to me, that’s the epitome of never giving up on love. Because it’s easy to allow the pain to take up permanent residence and transform into bitterness, anger, and isolation.

So to be able to hold the pain and allow it to happen and then flow out again is an act of love that will return new love to us time and time again.

What would it mean for to never give up on love, starting with yourself first?