Burning Beneath

Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?

There’s a difference between feeling loved and recognizing it. Sometimes, it’s not that love hasn’t been present, but that self-protection, doubt, or past experiences make it difficult to truly see or accept it. I often wonder if I’ve genuinely felt loved in my life. There are moments I can recall feeling safe, supported, or even tolerated, but love—true, unconditional love—is harder to pinpoint. I’m not saying it never happened; it might have. But perhaps I didn’t recognize it for what it was because I’ve always kept my guard up, shielding myself from vulnerability.

Interestingly, with my kids, love feels different. I see it in the smallest gestures—in the way they reach for my hand without hesitation, or the light in their eyes when they look at me. There’s a purity in their love, something unspoken and untainted by expectation.

I will always cherish the moment when my youngest slips his tiny hand into my jacket pocket, reaching for mine. He does this every time we step out of the car, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s something so tender, so instinctively beautiful about it—his little gesture of trust and connection. It’s not loud or dramatic, but it carries a quiet kind of love that speaks directly to my heart. In that moment, it feels like nothing else matters—just his small hand in mine, reminding me of the purity and simplicity of love in its most innocent form.

Yet I still find myself questioning: Is this love, or is it something else? Could it be sympathy? Could it be friendship or even obligation disguised as love? Maybe the problem isn’t just whether love exists, but whether my own doubts and fears keep me from fully embracing it.

Perhaps love isn’t always what we imagine it to be. Maybe it’s not some grand, all-encompassing feeling, but the friendship that’s always been there, steady and reliable. Maybe it’s in the children we’ve brought into this world, who show us love in their simplest actions. Maybe it’s even in the quiet thank you from a stranger we’ve helped, a fleeting moment of connection that reminds us we matter.

Love, in its truest form, might not always be grand or obvious. Sometimes it’s hidden in the quietest gestures, the smallest looks, or the simple act of someone showing up again and again. Recognizing love might mean redefining it, letting go of the expectations we’ve placed on it, and allowing ourselves to see it in all the ways it shows up. And maybe, learning to trust that feeling—no matter how subtle—is where the real work begins.