Entry #3: Loving What’s Real

Prompt:  Write about a time you thought love—romantic, platonic, or even self-love—meant showing up perfectly.  What did you do to try to earn it?   What did it cost you. Then… write about the moment (or series of moments) where you realized:  

• * don’t have to earn love.  

• I just have to arrive honestly.

What does love look like now, when it’s rooted in realness instead of performance?

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Geez, I’m on the verge of what I feel like is fever, which I hope it’s not — feeling the early onset of shivers, and here I am needing to reflect on love — so deep, so complicated, so fill in the blank. 

When reading the prompt, I can’t think of a single time because I feel that way all the time. It’s hard to separate the fact and the fiction, the baseless ideal from the reality when it comes to that infamous L-word. My skewed view, yes, I have enough awareness to know it’s skewed, it means it's constantly in go mode, that performance mode to be the best, give the most, to be fully present, fully aware, fully immersed— fully everything all the time. Unrealistic, right? Given my flaws and all. Yet the thought lurks within not just my mind but my very being. 

The costs of associating love with performance makes it transactional — I perform my best and cater to your needs, and you, the audience, applaud, throwing flowers in the air and shouting encore, with desires to have more and see more on the grand stage. The thought alone is tiring;

the reality? Exhausting.

Learning to love in realness is beautiful, poetic even. Showing up with your best, but the realest version of yourself rather than the cookie-cutter picture of perfection, is a goal, but these feelings can feel impossible sometimes in a world promoting superficiality on all fronts. 

Learning to love myself in realness is, I’d like to think, honoring those truths about myself, especially the ones I run from.

Yes, I’m guarded but capable of compassion.

Yes, I overthink, but I try to be present.

Yes, I can shut down and retreat within myself, but it’s only cause I’m overstimulated by my environment.

Yes, I like to listen more than I speak, but it’s because I want to learn and absorb every bit of the month.

Yes, I worry about the past, and the present because I want it all to end well, and lead to a happy ending. 

Yes, my ideal day is one where I’m inside, cuddled on the couch with my pooch Milo, with the rain droplets tapping against the window as they make their landing, and my warmest and comfiest clothes embracing me like a dear old friend.  

Yes, my curves feel too curvy at times, and the gap between my teeth a bit wider than I want, and my hair is frustratingly unruly sometimes.

Yes, I hate failure and take it personally but still work to excel — most of the time.

Yes, I’m complicated, quiet, introspective, ordinary, but loving myself in realness is recognizing that as well as the parts of me that shine the brightest when my heart is full of joy and unconditional love.

What does that look like? Well, let’s leave that for another day, shall we? 

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Note: Lessons from My 20s is A reflective series by Black Bonnet Girls. Lessons from My 20s is a journal-style series capturing the unfiltered truths, tender moments, and tiny awakenings that come with growing up and growing into yourself.  These entries are for anyone who’s ever felt stuck between who they’ve been and who they’re becoming. For the overthinkers, the late bloomers, the quiet dreamers, and the loud feelers. Through storytelling, reflection, and honesty, I hope this space becomes a soft landing—for me and for you.

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