The Lover's Lesson: Self-Love and Detachment

My everyday affirmation

I saw a tweet the other day that replicated exactly what my therapist had told me a few sessions ago: "I come into people's lives to show them pure genuine love, and they come into my life to teach me self-love and detachment."

When she said it to me, it almost felt crushing. I think a lot of us who identify as "lover girls" have felt this—the quiet ache of wondering why life always seems to be happening to us rather than for us when it comes to relationships—whether familial, platonic, or romantic.

I have found it difficult feeling like I watch people seem to effortlessly create these equal, loving relationships with people while mine have always felt mismatched and resulted in my feeling let down.

For me, I've always given love freely, without asking for much in return. I pride myself on being dependable, nurturing, and keeping my love as true as possible. I've tended to let people get away with things that made me look at them sideways, dismissing their poor behaviors as something tied to their childhood trauma, or telling myself they didn't mean what they said or did. Sometimes, I did this simply to keep the peace.

So I started to wonder: what does detachment actually mean for me? I've always felt like I drown myself in self-love, though of course there's always more to be added to that. But detachment? That word pressed on me. I knew I tended to cling to potential outcomes—to hope things would follow through the way I imagined. When I was in my late teens to early 20s, I experienced what it felt like to lose myself in another person, and I paid greatly for it as a result when that connection ended or was put on pause. As I've gotten older, I've worked hard on keeping me, me—putting myself first. It's the boundaries where I've noticed my flaws in detachment.

Over time, I realized that offering love so openly can leave me vulnerable to being taken advantage of. It's made me cautious, even detached. When I meet someone new now, it takes me a long time to feel safe opening up. I worry that if I pour myself out, I'll end up embarrassed for doing so, left wondering why I trusted them or that their love was true in response.

I used to think detaching from someone meant closing myself off to them and to others. That in order to protect myself, I'd have to stop loving altogether. But I've come to realize I don't think that's what it is. For me, detachment is about boundaries—holding space for people without excusing away harmful behavior. Keeping me intact, even when my heart wants to give everything away.

I find boundaries to be the hardest but the most necessary piece. It means learning to say, "This is what I need," or "This is what I won't accept," without feeling guilty or like I'm being "too much." It's recognizing when forgiveness turns into self-abandonment. One book that's been really helpful in this area is "Set Boundaries, Find Peace" by Nedra Glover Tawwab. It's practical, straight to the point, and really shows how setting boundaries isn't about pushing people away—it's about protecting the space where love can actually grow. Hell—there's some boundaries she introduced to me that I hadn't even realized I had been trying to set but didn't know how to explain it or I would end up questioning if it was okay to implement.

Once boundaries are in place, detachment becomes more possible. It could look like checking in with yourself as much as you check in on others, giving yourself the same patience and softness you offer others, and remembering that you don't have to control how someone responds to your love.

As I said for me, detachment is also about loosening my grip on outcomes. It's reminding myself that I can love fully without needing to control how someone responds, or where the relationship is headed. It's telling myself: "I can be okay whether this works out or not, because I still have me." That doesn't make the love less real—it makes it more grounded.

Another practice I've made for myself after reading her book was getting straight to the point when I meet new people. Romantically, I have started straight up sharing that I want to be married and have now decided I do want to have kids within the next ten to twelve years. A lot of people might side-eye that, and those are the people I'm saying bye to. I have goals I want to maintain and I am putting them out there to question if you may have the same goals—because if not, we'll be saving a lot of time and potential heartache as a result. It leaves less room for disappointment and having to go through this detach/self-love cycle over and over and over again. Platonic relationships are similar—I've started being upfront about my boundaries, values, and how I like to spend my time. If someone isn't aligned with that, it's okay to not force a connection to fit.

Enough about me though—I know there are people who struggle in the self-love department and the other sides of detachment that I've learned to manage for myself over the years and I want every person reading to find a connection in this.

Anyone who struggles with self-love, or who feels like they can only exist when they're wrapped up in someone else: you don't have to lose yourself to be loved. I know it feels natural sometimes to want to give all of you away—to absorb yourself in another person's world, to take on their needs and problems as your own, to make their happiness your responsibility. But here's the truth: the kind of love that lasts and remains true doesn't require you to shrink yourself in any way, shape or form. (Sorry, back to me for a sec) I found myself in a relationship a few years ago where I felt like a contortionist trying to fit in this person's box of, well, what I'd call now, nonsense. I found my favorite piece of art hanging in my little home gallery after that relationship and my Contorted Girl means more to me then I could explain.

Art by Sage Aries / @sageariesillustrations

In another relationship, I allowed someone to bully me after continuously asking them not to or when I tried to set boundaries. Love does not include those types of scenarios.

Self-love and detachment sound heavy, almost like they mean shutting down or becoming cold. But really, they're about balance. Self-love is giving yourself the care and attention you so easily give to others. Detachment is reminding yourself that you don't have to control outcomes or hold onto people so tightly out of fear of losing them. You're allowed to stand fully in who you are and still love deeply.

And I want to remind anyone reading this—if you've found yourself in the same space of being "the lover," of always giving, of learning self-love and detachment—it's okay. It doesn't mean you're doomed to always be the one who pours out more. It means you're learning how to balance. You're learning how to protect your heart while still keeping it open. One day, you will get what you want and what you dream of. Love will meet you where you are, equally and fully. Loving someone while keeping yourself intact is not only possible—it's necessary. You deserve to know what it feels like to be met where you are, not just to be the one doing all the meeting.

So: Does learning detachment mean we're protecting our hearts, or are we just preparing them for the love we've always deserved?