If you’re around my age, you probably remember that 80s classic sung by the late, great Tina Turner: “What’s love got to do with it?” Man, that song hits different when you’ve lived a little, doesn’t it? Especially that line. “Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?” Yeah. That’s a mood.
Love isn’t what the movies show us. It’s not just butterflies or passionate glances across a crowded room. And it’s definitely not about chasing someone who doesn’t see you. Love, at its core, is what love does. It’s one of the most wanted emotions out there. And yet, one of the hardest to hold onto. Especially if you’re like me and live with CPTSD.
When you grow up with attachment wounds, love can feel like this faraway thing, something you crave desperately because it feels like acceptance. Like finally being seen. But it’s also something that can scare the hell out of you because deep down, you’re not sure if you deserve it… or if it’ll just hurt you in the end.
I’ve always wanted someone to truly know me. Like, really know me. I have a lot of love to give, but I never quite trusted how to give it or how to let it in. For a long time, I didn’t believe I was allowed to accept love. That I hadn’t earned it. That I didn’t deserve it. Now I know that’s a very common struggle for those of us navigating CPTSD.
For the longest time I believed that love was supposed to hurt.
Trust has never come easy for me. Letting someone in felt like handing over the keys to a house that’s been through too many storms. Being vulnerable? That was terrifying. What if they saw the mess and walked away? I’ve always loved deeply, but feeling that love returned has been hard, and it made me believe something must be wrong with me.
As a kid, I was pretty standoffish. My childhood was marked by abuse, and even when my mom tried to comfort me, I didn’t know how to let her in. I’d flinch or pull away. In my young mind, any adult touch meant danger. So I became that child who didn’t seek hugs and didn’t ask to be held. I watched my siblings connect with our parents and wished I could do the same… but I just couldn’t. Sometimes I wonder if my mom felt that distance and if it hurt her, too.
That emotional distance followed me into adulthood. I self-sabotaged a lot, thinking, “Well, they’re going to leave anyway; might as well beat them to it.” And then I’d carry the guilt of pushing someone away who maybe would’ve stayed. I kept repeating this cycle where love meant walking on a tightrope, waiting for the fall. And every time it fell apart, I told myself I wasn’t lovable to begin with.
Learning to love takes patience and time.
Therapy helped. A lot. It’s been teaching me to unlearn the trauma habits. I’ve begun to understand that real love isn’t loud or chaotic. It’s feeling seen, safe, and understood. It’s knowing that both people want to show up for the relationship and protect it. I’m no longer afraid to feel “too much” or be too much. I don’t have to shrink myself to be loved.
It’s taken years, but I finally believe I deserve love, the real kind. The kind that holds space for your wounds and still sees your worth.
So, Tina… what’s love got to do with it?
Everything.
To love and be loved in return is the greatest gift we can both give and receive…unless you’re talking about a pizza. In which case, I’m pretty sure I’d love a large tuna and black olives right about now more than a hug. But hey, it’s all about balance, right?