Lent 2026 · Second Sunday of Lent: Do Women Really Have to Choose the Bear?

I hate breakups.

And coming from someone who has endured more uncouplings than any reasonable person should have to experience, I feel like my character has been sufficiently built. I saw a meme once where instead of giving someone their soulmate, God gives them another toxic relationship for “character development.”

Respectfully, my character is overly developed. Let’s move on.

Since this is a Lent post, let’s go back to the desert of Kansas.

I had taken my LSAT. Applied to law school. I was standing at the edge of a life I was ready to launch, and the person beside me wasn’t standing there with me anymore.

Not because either of us were bad people.

Because we weren’t a good fit.

I had been honest from the beginning about where I was emotionally. About what I could give. About who I was and that I was still healing. And when I finally reached the point where I was ready to say, "yes, let’s build something real..." that was the moment it ended.

Timing is a strange and brutal teacher.

The breakup itself wasn’t great. Her response to me was more about her past relationships than it was about me. That’s the thing about projection. People hand you ghosts that don’t belong to you and expect you to carry them anyway. She made it sound like we had this awful relationship when, in reality, I had been honest from the start about my emotional capacity and my investment.

And when I finally said I was ready to make it work. Ready to become partners. Ready to build something while starting law school.

That was when she decided to leave.

They tell you in law school not to let major personal upheavals happen if you want to succeed. Because you don’t go to law school alone. Everyone in your life goes with you. Your relationships go with you. Your support system goes with you. It isn’t just a personal investment. It’s a community endeavor.

And when someone significant steps out of that circle, you feel it everywhere.

One of my friends told me recently I’ve aged really well, and that I’m a much better version of myself today than I was two years ago.

She’s right.

Back then, I was barely holding myself together.

The thing is, I will always have other things happening in my life. Law school. Work. Golf. Existing in this world as myself. Dating isn’t really about capacity. It’s about logistics. It’s about whether someone can stand beside you while your life is actively unfolding, not just when it’s convenient.

But destruction has a purpose.

Things fall apart so you stop living inside structures that were never meant to hold you long-term. And somewhere in that unraveling, I realized something that changed how I understand love completely.

An ex told me once she couldn’t fall in love with my potential. That was over twenty years ago. At the time, I didn’t even know how much potential I had. When I finally tapped into it, it didn’t unfold quietly.

It detonated.

And now I understand this.

I don’t want someone to choose me eventually.

I want someone who chooses me clearly.

Not after hesitation.

Not after comparison.

Not after emotional negotiations with themselves.

Clearly.

And I want to be that person too.

Because secure love isn’t waiting to be picked like the last kid in gym class. It’s mutual recognition. It’s two people standing firmly in their own lives, saying:

I see you.

I like who you are.

I choose this.

Not because you need each other.

Because you want each other.

I’ve taken a long pause from dating. Law school. Healing. Rebuilding my entire life. But recently, I’ve been thinking about getting back out there, which feels both hopeful and mildly suspicious.

Because here’s what I know now.

Every relationship that ends raises my standards.

Not out of bitterness.

Out of clarity.

I don’t need a relationship to complete me. I already know I’m desirable. I already know I’m lovable. I’ve built a life I actually enjoy living.

But I do love loving someone.

I love having a person.

I love choosing someone.

I love waking up and deciding, again, that this is the person I want beside me.

And I am very good at it.

I show up. Even when I’m mad.

I stay in conversations that are uncomfortable.

If someone tells me something is hurting them and it makes sense, I try to adjust.

I once jokingly told a partner to put me on a Personal Improvement Plan. Which is objectively hilarious, but also not entirely a joke.

Because when I choose someone, I take it seriously. I mentally, emotionally, and spiritually invest.

You don’t stay just because someone chose you.

You stay because you choose each other.

For a long time, I confused being wanted with being loved. And I’ve watched so many incredible women do the same thing. Waiting. Hoping. Accepting emotional ambiguity because at least it meant they weren’t alone.

But you don’t have to wait to be chosen.

You get to choose, too.

You get to decide whose presence makes your nervous system feel calm instead of confused. You get to decide who earns access to your softness. You get to decide who gets to witness your life as it unfolds.

Because real love isn’t built on convincing someone to stay.

It’s built on mutual willingness.

It’s waking up and thinking,

I like this person.

I respect this person.

I feel safe with this person.

I want this person here.

And knowing they are choosing you back.

Not reluctantly.

Not eventually.

Not ambiguously.

Clearly.

Which brings me back to the bear.

Women don’t choose the bear because they hate men. They choose the bear because the bear is honest about what it is.

A bear is dangerous, yes. But it’s predictable. It doesn’t pretend to be safe while quietly becoming unsafe. It doesn’t charm you, gain your trust, and then disappear when you need it most. It doesn’t destabilize you emotionally and call it love.

A bear doesn’t text you good morning and then vanish for three days.

A bear doesn’t make you question your worth.

A bear doesn’t slowly erode your nervous system while telling you everything is fine.

A bear is regulated by instinct. It shows you exactly what it is.

Most women know how to read danger. We’ve had to.

What’s harder to read is inconsistency. Emotional unavailability disguised as interest. Someone who wants access to your softness but doesn’t want responsibility for your heart.

The bear doesn’t breadcrumb you.

The bear doesn’t keep you as an option.

The bear doesn’t ask you to shrink so it can feel bigger.

It either stays in its territory.

Or it leaves.

And what I’ve realized is I don’t want to spend my life trying to decode someone’s emotional weather patterns just to figure out if I’m safe there.

I want clarity.

I want consistency.

I want someone who is not afraid of themselves, and therefore not afraid of loving someone else.

Because real love should not feel like surviving a wilderness.

It should feel like coming home.

And at this point in my life, I’m not choosing the bear.

And neither is she.

She will choose me.

I will choose her.

Because safety, security, and predictability, that’s fucking sexy in your middle ages.

Lenten Reflection:

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” — 1 Peter 4:8

Lent is a season where illusions fall away.

Not just about who God is.

About who we are.

About who we’ve loved.

About who stayed.

And who didn’t.

Scripture doesn’t promise love will be easy. It promises love will be honest.

Jesus didn’t force anyone to follow him. People walked beside him freely. Some stayed. Some left. Some betrayed him. He didn’t chase them down to convince them of his worth.

He simply remained himself. Present. Clear. Available.

That’s the part people don’t talk about.

Love is not convincing someone to choose you.

Love is recognizing who already has.

And having the courage to choose them back.

Lent asks us to release what is not aligned. The relationships built on confusion. The versions of ourselves that stayed out of fear. The belief that we must earn what should be freely given.

Because the holiest thing you can do is not sacrifice yourself to be loved.

It is to become someone who can stand fully in their life, fully in their truth, and say:

I am here.

I am not hiding.

I am capable of loving.

And I will not abandon myself to keep it.

The right people will recognize that.

And they will stay.

Take care of yourself.

Take care of each other.

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