Rethinking Unconditional Love
How I’m learning to stay in love without losing myself
It started with a slammed door.
Then another.
Then the stomping—Jordan (our 12-year old daughter) marching through the hallway with fire in her cheeks, muttering just loud enough for Kylee (our 14-year old daughter) to hear.
I was at the sink, rinsing off dinner plates, trying not to get pulled into the undertow, trying to stay steady.
Kylee appeared in the doorway next.
“Are you seriously not going to say anything? She always does this and you let her get away with it.”
There it was - the invitation, the test, the plea.
Pick a side. Prove your love.
I looked at her, saw the hurt under the anger. I knew this moment mattered. But I also knew I couldn’t give her what she was asking—not in the way she wanted it.
“I see you’re upset,” I said. “And I can tell this feels unfair. But I’m not going to take sides here.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“So you’re just going to let her treat me like that? Wow.”
And then she was gone - another slammed door.
I stood there in the kitchen, heart aching, shoulders tight, and thought:
This is what no one told me about unconditional love.
What I Believed
When I was a kid, I believed unconditional love meant always being there - no matter what.
You show up. You stick around. You support the person you love—even if they’re wrong, even if it’s hard, and even if it costs you something.
That’s what love meant to me then: devotion, loyalty, and availability.
And in many ways, I still believe in the core of that. I love my daughters with a kind of fierce, unwavering tenderness that doesn’t budge. I will love them no matter what they do, that part isn’t in question.
But what’s become clearer to me lately is that unconditional love doesn’t mean unconditional agreement, or support, or presence.
It doesn’t mean I will like every version of them.
It doesn’t mean I will always have the capacity to show up.
It doesn’t mean I will say yes when my inner compass says no.
And that’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
What Got Twisted
Somewhere along the way, love got entangled with self-sacrifice.
The myth goes something like this:
If you really love someone, you’ll always be there for them.
If you don’t show up, it must mean your love wasn’t real.
But that’s not love, that’s obligation.
And when we keep showing up from obligation—especially when it goes against our deeper truth—it takes a toll.
We feel it in our bodies: tension, fatigue, that creeping sense of resentment we don’t want to admit.
Over time, obligation without integrity doesn’t bring us closer, it drains us.
And the love we’re trying to protect starts to wear thin.
The Giraffe That Said “When”
I remember watching a video years ago of Marshall Rosenberg—the founder of Nonviolent Communication. He held up a giraffe puppet (giraffes, with their big hearts, are the NVC symbol for compassionate presence). He asked the puppet:
“Do you love me?”
And the giraffe answered:
“When?”
Not always, not automatically, but instead “when”.
The giraffe went on to explain that love is not just a feeling—it’s a need. Something tender and universal in all of us.
But when we treat love like a contract—a set of unspoken rules or expectations that must be fulfilled no matter what—we distort its essence.
We begin to measure love by compliance:
If you love me, you’ll agree with me.
If you love me, you’ll show up every time I call.
If you love me, you’ll always say yes.
But love doesn’t flourish under those terms - it can’t breathe when it’s bound by obligation or scorekeeping. Love, at its best, is a gift—not a transaction.
Rethinking “Unconditional”
I think it’s time we rethink what unconditional love really means.
Not as something we have to constantly prove—by showing up perfectly, by saying yes, by never upsetting the other person.
But as something steady and real—felt in our hearts, even when we set boundaries. Even when we disappoint each other.
“I’ll always love you” shouldn’t mean “I’ll never say no.”
It shouldn’t mean we twist ourselves to keep the peace.
Real love doesn’t demand self-abandonment, it asks us to stay honest—with ourselves and with each other.
Practicing This With My Daughters
Lately, I’ve been practicing this with my daughters.
I remind them:
“I love you both completely. And that doesn’t mean I’ll always take your side.
Sometimes loving you means being a safe space for your feelings, even if I don’t agree with the narrative.
Sometimes it means being honest with you.
Sometimes it means holding space for your disappointment.
Sometimes it means not fixing anything at all.
And sometimes it means not having capacity to give you empathy in the moment.”
It’s not always easy. I hate seeing their faces fall when they realize I won’t validate them in the way they hoped. I feel it in my chest—the squeeze of guilt, the ache of wanting to smooth it over.
But I also feel something else: alignment.
And I’ve learned that alignment is one of the most loving things I can offer.
Because it teaches them that love is not something they have to earn through agreement.
What This Means for All of Us
There may be people in your life that you love with your whole being—
But you can’t keep showing up for them in the way they expect.
Maybe it’s a parent who wants you to pretend.
A friend who only calls when they need something.
A partner or child who reads every boundary as rejection.
You’re allowed to love them.
And you’re ALSO allowed to say, “This doesn’t feel right for me.”
You’re allowed to walk away from conversations, from roles, and from dynamics that drain you.
Not because you love any less— but because you matter too.
A Small Practice: Saying “I Love You, and…”
Think of someone you care about—someone who might be asking more of you than you have the capacity to give right now.
Now bring to mind the request, behavior, or expectation that’s been hard for you to meet.
Take a breath.
Notice what happens in your body—any tension, pressure, guilt, confusion.
Now say this—out loud if you can, or just in your mind:
“I love you. And I’m not able to give you what you’re asking for right now.”
“I love you. And I need space.”
“I love you. And I don’t agree with how you’re seeing this.”
“I love you. And I also need to love myself here.”
Notice how it feels to say both parts:
“I love you.”
“And I…”
This isn’t about getting it perfect. It’s about practicing what it means to stay in connection—without leaving yourself behind.
Closing
Unconditional love doesn’t mean unconditional access.
It doesn’t mean losing yourself in order to prove your care.
You can love with depth and still have boundaries.
You can love fully and still say no.
You can love forever—and still walk away from dynamics that ask you to betray yourself.
This kind of love might not always be recognized.
But it’s the kind that lasts - because it includes you, too.
If this resonated, take a deeper dive in tomorrow’s paid substack…
I’ve created a Companion Guide for paid subscribers to help you bring this into the real moments—the ones where love and limits start to tangle.
Inside, I share a few practices, real-life scripts, and reflections that I’ve found helpful as I try to live this work—not perfectly, but with as much care and honesty as I can.
If you’re navigating similar questions—how to love without overgiving, how to stay honest without pulling away—this might give you a few tools or ways to think it through.