There was a time when you accepted love simply because it showed up. Not because it was healthy, not because it was gentle, but because it was available. You stayed because you were afraid of being alone, afraid that asking for more would mean ending up with nothing. Back then, love didn’t need to feel safe; it just needed to feel like something.
You tolerated inconsistency and called it patience. You accepted bare minimum effort and told yourself you were “understanding.” You excused silence, emotional distance, and confusion because part of you believed that love was supposed to be hard. That if it wasn’t difficult, maybe it wasn’t real.
But something changes as you grow.
You start noticing how heavy it feels to constantly explain your needs. How draining it is to beg for clarity, affection, or basic respect. You realize that love shouldn’t feel like you’re always shrinking, always adjusting, always waiting to be chosen again.
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Outgrowing that version of love doesn’t mean you were foolish for accepting it. It means you did the best you could with the awareness you had at the time. You loved from the place you were in, not from the place you’re in now.
And that’s okay.
Growth has a way of sharpening your standards. Not because you’ve become “difficult,” but because you’ve become more honest with yourself. You now know that love should feel mutual. That peace is not too much to ask for. That consistency is not a luxury.
It can feel uncomfortable when your heart changes faster than the people around you. When the things you once tolerated now feel unbearable. When you realize that the love you once fought to keep is the same you’re now brave enough to walk away from.
Letting go of an old version of love can feel like grief. Not because it was perfect, but because it was familiar. Because you invested time, emotions, and hope. Because walking away means admitting that you deserve better, and that can be a scary truth to fully accept.
But here’s the quiet truth no one tells you.
Outgrowing a version of love is not betrayal. It’s self-respect. It’s choosing not to abandon yourself just to keep someone else comfortable. It’s understanding that love should meet you where you are growing, not keep you stuck where you’ve been.
You are allowed to want more now. You are allowed to choose differently. You are allowed to walk toward a love that feels calmer, safer, and more aligned with who you’re becoming.
The love you accepted before was not a mistake. It was a chapter.
And you don’t have to live in old chapters forever.
