by Ana Vargas

I met my wife when I was 20 years old. We were married when I was 26, and our twins were born when I was 29. In the 20+ years we’ve shared, we’ve met joy, weathered storms (sometimes with a broken umbrella!), and grown into ourselves together. But here’s the confession: I didn’t want her love when she first offered it. I remember the night she looked me in the eyes and said “I love you” for the first time — and I responded, “Why?” Honeyyyyy, I was a mess! It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. It’s that I couldn’t fathom being loved that deeply without “proving” my worth to receive it. In that moment, I felt exposed — not because of what she said, but because of what it revealed about my worthiness. 

I didn’t feel I had earned her love yet despite how I consisently showed up in our relationship.  

Love as Something We Think We Must Earn

Growing up as the eldest, love looked a lot like responsibility. I was the protector, the one who stepped up when things fell apart. Love was sacrifice. It was what I gave to others so they could be okay — not what I received in return. This pattern was so deeply embedded that by the time I met my wife, I didn’t have a model for ease, softness, or reciprocity.

So when she offered me love — real love — I was suspicious. I kept one foot in, and the other foot ready to run. Despite my efforts to push her away, she stayed. Patiently. Transparently. Openly.

The Shift from Provider to Partner

When our children were born, there was no question in how we would face this milestone: she stayed home with them, and I went out into the world to provide for our family. It felt natural. It fit the narrative I had always believed about my worth — that it was tied to what I could do, build, or sustain. Being productive, capable, and reliable was how I believed I need to earn and retain love.

Years later, when she wanted to go back to school and shift her career, I supported her fully by showing up both financially and emotionally — covering our household needs, adjusting my schedule to make space for her studies, and holding space for her doubt when she questioned her path. I cheered her on not just as her partner, but as someone deeply invested in her growth — I wanted to see her WIN! I provided emotional, and financial support for my partner lovingly and willingly. Without hesitation or reservation. However, when the roles reversed — when I needed to pivot and step into a new season of uncertainty — that same grace I had extended to her became hard to give to myself.

I was terrified. I wasn’t the provider anymore. I didn’t have the blueprint. I didn’t have a 5-year plan. Despite my wife’s constant reminders of her love not being conditional, I couldn’t imagine being enough at this stage. My fear wasn’t only about the money — it was about my self worth. I had somehow tied my identity so tightly to productivity that I couldn’t see how I was lovable without it.

Love Isn’t a Transaction — It’s a Practice

bell hooks reminds us that love is not just a noun — it’s a verb. As she writes in All About Love, “We are not born knowing how to love anyone, either ourselves or somebody else. However, we are born able to respond to care.” This quote reminds me that love is a practice. A choice we make, over and over again to open ourselves up and become familiarize ourselves with the acts, words, and environment love creates around us. In my marriage, I’ve come to understand that real love doesn’t wait for you to be whole before it arrives. It walks with you while you become.

Love, in its truest form, is not about who provides what. It’s about how we show up — with courage, with softness, with truth. It’s about letting someone see us behind the layers we’ve used to feel safe.

And if I’m honest? I didn’t just fear being unloved — I feared being seen. Seen without the armor. Without the accolades. Without the titles.

But the truth is: I am loved not for what I give, but for who I am. I used to believe I had to hustle for love — now I know love can hold me even when I’m still figuring things out. This realization didn’t happen overnight, but it opened a door inside me that had been locked for years and that is a kind of freedom I am still learning to live into.

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Reflection Questions

• How did you first learn what love looks like?
• In which ways are you shifting how you give and receive love?
• Which environments, people, words, actions, make you feel loved or loving?

If this stirred something in you, share in the comments. What are you unlearning about love — and what are you embracing instead?

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