The World Teaches Us to Earn Love — But the Soul Knows Better

Notes from the Hollow Bone | entry thirty-one

There comes a moment in every life when the old teachings fall apart.
Not because they were loud, or cruel,
but because they were wrong.

 Most of us were raised — quietly, subtly, relentlessly —
to believe that love is something we win.
Something we earn.
Something given only when we behave well enough,
break small enough,
or shine bright enough to be chosen.

 We were taught, without words,
that love has conditions, thresholds,
exams we never quite pass.

 And so we grow into adults who perform.
Adults who carry childhood hunger into grown bodies.
Adults who chase the illusion that if we can become
soft enough,
strong enough,
beautiful enough,
forgiving enough,
quiet enough,
pleasing enough—

 then maybe love will stay.

 But there is a truth older than this world,
a truth that arrives only when we are finally tired
of performing our way into belonging.

 It is simple.
It is ancient.
And when it lands, it lands like revelation:

 Love is not earned.
It is given.
There is nothing you can do, or fail to do,
that makes you more or less worthy of it.

When my son said this to me — in the soft honesty of a struggle he did not deserve —
I felt something inside me break and glow at the same time.
A mother knows a child’s pain before he speaks it,
but this time, he named a truth I had searched for my whole life.

 He knew the only woman who had ever loved him fully, fiercely, without condition
was his mother.
Not because he earned it.
Not because he performed for it.
But because love — real love — is given in the marrow,
not negotiated in the mind.

 And as he spoke, I realized something I had never dared to admit:

 Every child deserves that kind of love in their lifetime —
not just from a parent,
but from a partner,
a companion,
a soul that says “your breath matters to me”
at dawn and at midnight.

 Not love that demands we erase ourselves.
Not love that thrives only in honeymoon glow.
Not love that punishes difference or silences truth.
Not love that folds under its own immaturity.

 But love that is whole enough to hold two perspectives.
Love that understands disagreement is not danger.
Love that recognizes one truth:
I can be fully myself,
you can be fully yourself,
and if our paths align,
we will walk them together without fear.

 This is the love I want for my son.
This is the love I want for all my children.
This is the love I want for every boy who was never told he was worthy,
and every girl who learned to shrink herself to be chosen.
For every grown child who still aches at night wondering if they are enough.

 So hear this —
whether you are my son by blood,
my son by spirit,
or a stranger who needed these words:

 You are worthy of a love that does not leave.
You are worthy of a love that does not ask you to earn it.
You are worthy of a love that sees you — all of you — and stays.

 One day, someone will love you with the same devotion
your mother wished the world had given you from the beginning.
A love that knows your edges,
holds your shadows,
honors your truth,
and walks beside you not because you are perfect—
but because you are theirs.

 And until that day arrives,
carry this with you like a vow:

 Love is not the prize.
You are.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai