There’s a part of me that can’t resist the feeling of being loved. Something within me is so scared of being left and forgotten that it will jump at any chance to receive affection.

Recently, I learned about the symbiotic relationship between honesty and love. It is far too easy to fool myself into thinking that honesty in love only involves speaking what is true, but I have come to understand it to mean much more than that. My soul needs to be forthcoming, increasing its authenticity, conscientiousness, and sincerity. It seems that the only thing I knew about truth was that it was not a lie.

I had silenced myself, never speaking a falsehood, sealing my heart away from personal truths, in an effort to only speak what was true in the past, objectively, and forever. This philosophy made me into an apathetic hypocrite. By not caring about my personal, more nebulous truths, I withheld intimate and personal empathy from myself. This then affected my relational intimacy and empathy.

I often spoke of sacrifice as a part of love, but I no longer believe this. It was the best substitute for love that I knew in this absence of personal intimacy and empathy. That wall of so-called objective truth cost me dearly, and it has cost me access to my ability to feel love. A wound from childhood still bleeds to this day.

I have never wanted to accept my disdain and resentment for life. I have never wanted to acknowledge the loss of my love for life and how deeply I despised that. My anger turned into depression and anxiety, leading to feelings of shame, which further affirmed the messages I experienced throughout childhood of being ugly, inept, and unworthy of care and acceptance.

For the last 17 years of my life, I have perpetuated those feelings of not being enough.

But, I am who I am, and I am loved.

And that, in itself, is beautiful.