There’s something deeply humbling about being loved just as you are. Not for what you’ve accomplished, not for how you look in a certain dress or how well you play the part—but for simply showing up as yourself.

No performance.

No polish.

No trying.

That’s what happened with us.

We fell in love, and we weren’t doing anything except being ourselves. That’s what made everything feel a little… out of control.

Love can be beautiful, but it can also feel like chaos. The older I get, the more I strive to be the calm, not the chaos.

Chaos. We don’t talk enough about this part. We glamorize the butterflies, the serendipity, the connection or spark, but we forget to mention that real love, or the beginning of something that feels like it could be love, often doesn’t make sense.

You can be sitting across from someone who looks nothing like the person you pictured for yourself, but there’s something in your heart leaps.

For me, I was deep in my own season of healing and wasn’t looking for anyone, yet he still found a way into my heart. It was gentle at first, and I even found myself questioning his actions. I tried to be emotionally guarded. I thought I was being careful, then suddenly I caught myself smiling at a message or feeling his absence when the day gets quiet.

And maybe the most disorienting part? I didn’t try to make it happen. We weren’t chasing each other. We were simply being ourselves.

And that’s the danger and the beauty of it. When love arrives uninvited and unplanned, it reminds us that we’re not as in control as we like to think.

Being “just yourself” doesn’t mean you’re responsible for someone else’s heart.

When he told me he was falling in love with me, I wanted to rewind time and look at every moment we’d shared.

What did I say?

What did I do?

Was I careless with his heart? Was he careless with mine?

The truth is, we were simply present. I somehow became the dot in his very small circle.

We listened.

We laughed.

We shared.

We existed in the fullness of who we are.

Somehow, that was enough for love to find him, too.

That’s where things get complicated, because when someone falls for you just by being around you, you can start to feel like you are the chaos. Like your presence stirred something too powerful.

But here’s what I’m learning: we are not responsible for what others feel. We can be kind, honest, and clear. We can communicate and create boundaries. But we cannot control how love lands on someone else’s heart.

So what do we do when love feels out of control?

We breathe.

We stop trying to make perfect sense of it.

We remember that sometimes love teaches us more through the confusion than through the clarity.

And we let God in. We give Him the control again.

Because if there’s ever a time to get reconnected to something bigger than ourselves, it’s when emotions are swirling and we don’t know what to do with them.

We pray for wisdom. For kindness. For clarity. For peace in the discomfort. For strength to do the hard things, and grace to let go if needed.

Love is messy.

It isn’t always logical.

It doesn’t arrive on schedule.

It doesn’t ask permission.

Is that the point? Maybe love isn’t meant to be controlled—just stewarded with care, and surrendered with trust.

So here’s to being “just yourself.”

Here’s to the ones who fall, and the ones who don’t feel the same.

Here’s to the ache, and the growth it brings.

Here’s to the divine disorder of the human heart.

Because even when it’s out of control… maybe that’s when we’re closest to understanding what love really is.

Love. Give. Live.