“When Love Feels Like a Burden”

I spent most of my life believing love had to be earned.

If I wasn’t obedient enough, helpful enough, impressive enough, love would quietly withdraw into the shadows. No harsh punishments, no dramatic disowning – just silence, distance, and disappointment heavy enough to crush my chest.

I thought that was normal.

When I was seven, I drew a picture of a tiger for my father. I remember the colours – orange, black, forest green behind it. I ran to him, beaming, holding the paper with tiny ink-smudged fingers.

He looked at it for three seconds and said, “Why are its legs so thin? Tigers are powerful animals. You should draw better.”

My joy flickered out like a candle in the wind.

I remember telling myself, Next time I’ll do better. Then he’ll be happy with me.

It sounds like a small moment. But moments like these stack themselves like bricks around your heart until you live your entire life within those walls.

I learned to become excellent at reading emotions. Anticipating needs. Being useful. Staying quiet. Being impressive enough to keep their affection close.

But here’s the truth I didn’t realise for decades:

That wasn’t love. That was fear.

Growing up, I thought conditional love was the only kind of love there was. Love that comes with expectations stapled to it, invisible contracts stating:

You must remain the golden child, or we will be disappointed.

You must achieve what we couldn’t, or you will waste your life.

You must be obedient, or you are ungrateful.

I carried these invisible contracts into adulthood, holding every relationship hostage to the fear of losing approval.

In my twenties, I dated someone who told me I was too sensitive.

Whenever I cried, they would sigh and say, “Don’t start this again.”

Whenever I was joyful, they would say, “You’re so dramatic.”

Whenever I needed support, they would grow cold and silent.

It took me years to realise I had chosen them because they felt familiar. Because conditional love was the only love I knew.

One day, I sat across from my therapist and said, “I just want to feel loved. Not for what I do. Not for who I pretend to be. Just for existing.”

She looked at me and asked, “Have you ever felt that before?”

I stared at the floor, tears burning my eyes, and whispered, “No.”

That was my turning point.

I started noticing every time I changed my words to avoid disapproval. Every time I worked myself to exhaustion to feel worthy. Every time I second-guessed my choices, fearing someone would withdraw their affection.

I realised how often I mistook approval for love. How often I confused obedience with loyalty. How often I abandoned myself to keep others comfortable.

The climax came quietly one morning when I woke up, made tea, and looked out the window at the soft blue sky.

For the first time, I thought:

What if I don’t owe anyone anything to be loved today? What if love isn’t something to earn, but something to receive freely – or walk away from if it comes with chains?

That thought terrified me.

But it also set me free.

I still love my parents. I know they did their best with the tools they had. But I no longer want love that feels like a burden.

I want love that feels like peace.

Love that lets me breathe deeply.

Love that says, “You’re allowed to exist exactly as you are, and I will still choose you.”

Your Turn:

Have you ever felt love was conditional in your life?

Did you confuse approval with genuine love?

What does love feel like for you now?