Learning to Love Without Colonizing Myself

I stumbled across an old blog post, I wrote back in 2002. When I was twenty-eight and still trying to figure out what love was supposed to feel like. I didn’t know then that I was already questioning the version of love I had inherited, the one shaped by fear, scarcity, and the old idea that you had to earn affection by giving parts of yourself away.

At fifty-one, I see things through a different lens. bell hooks reminded us that “Love is an act of will, both an intention and an action.” But intention and action require vulnerability, and vulnerability is something a lot of people avoid like it’s a global pandemic. We live in a world where everyone is terrified of being seen for who they actually are, terrified of saying “I want this” and risking someone saying “I don’t.” And yes, that feeling is awful. Rejection stings. Judgment stings.

But hiding from connection has a cost too.

Decolonizing love means unlearning the idea that we have to perform worthiness or hide the softest parts of ourselves to stay safe. It means being brave enough to show up anyway. It means choosing people who meet us with clarity and consistency, and letting go of those who only meet us with confusion or fear.

I’m not looking for a love that demands sacrifice or makes me smaller. I’m looking for a connection where two people stand fully in themselves and still choose each other. It’s not impossible, but we’ve been taught to believe love must be all-consuming, binding, suffocating. That isn’t love. That’s manipulation. That’s control. That’s something else entirely. 

Love should feel expansive. It should feel like freedom, not containment. Honesty, not mind reading or code-breaking. Courage, not avoidance. Not hiding.

And here’s the thing I’ve learned after all these years, don’t waste your heart on people who can’t hold it. But also don’t let the fear of being misunderstood keep you from offering it to someone who actually can.

We talk a lot about protecting our peace, our energy, our boundaries, and that matters. But protection isn’t the same as isolation. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is step toward the person who makes you feel seen, even if your hands aren’t steady.

Love might not be guaranteed. Nothing is. But if you trust yourself to seek what brings joy, what makes your heart sing, what helps you grow into your best self, the whole world shifts. Love isn’t about ownership, it’s partnership. Two people sharing something magical, mystical, beautiful, and real.

Connection isn’t guaranteed.  But if you build your life around honesty, courage, and reciprocity, the right people will recognize themselves in your words, your actions, and your intention.

Maybe that’s what I couldn’t articulate at twenty-eight. Maybe it took living, breaking, healing, and trying again to understand, a decolonized love is one where you choose with your whole chest, not recklessly, not carelessly, but bravely, because some people are worth the risk.

And if it’s meant for you, it won’t need forcing, convincing, or negotiating. It will come in clarity. And it will stay in truth.

As above, so below. Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other.