Love Isn't Something Another Person Can Give Us.

For me love is no longer something I seek, it's something I remember.

“I love you!”

These words came out of me spontaneously on my morning walk.

It was one of those perfect summer mornings. The sun was already illuminating and warming everything it touched, but in the shade there were still traces of the night’s coolness and mystery.

My mother and sister have just left after a few days of visiting.

I could feel the sweetness of relaxation filling my body, knowing that it was a Saturday and I had no plans. After a busy week, my only intention was to rest.

I love you! I love you!

The words kept coming.

They were completely true.

And yet I noticed how my mind immediately began searching for who they were about.

I mentally connected to my mother.
My sister.
My children.
My husband.

No.

The love I felt wasn’t directed toward anyone in particular.

It was simply describing my inner state in that moment.

My body was enjoying the rhythm of walking. The air, exquisitely perfumed by blooming flowers. The beauty of trees. The warmth of the sun. The spaciousness of knowing I didn’t have to rush my pleasure, I had nowhere to be.

For a few precious moments, everything was perfect. Nothing needed to be different.

And love was simply there - on tap.

It reminded me of something I’ve been discovering for years:
love is not person-specific.

Nor is it something anyone can give us or take away.

It’s a state we enter.

Yes, some people make that state easier to enter.

But the feeling itself is ours.

That realization revolutionized my relationships.

Because whenever that feeling disappeared, I stopped assuming someone had taken it from me.

Instead I began asking:

Why don’t I feel love right now?
What is blocking my access to it?

Sometimes it’s surprisingly simple.

The past few weeks reminded me how profoundly we affect one another.

For the past month we’ve been living under the same roof with our daughters. Then came my niece’s wedding. Then my mother and sister visited.

I noticed myself becoming faster.
More vigilant.
Less spacious.
More dismissive of my self-care.

Not because anything was wrong.

Simply because mammals regulate one another.

We are constantly influenced by the nervous systems around us.

But we don’t have to live at the whim of other people’s emotional states.

I love remembering that we can co-regulate with more than people:

A favorite walking path.
A tree we’ve befriended.
The ocean - caressing and rocking.
A painting that connects us to a happy event.
A beloved comfy well-worn sweater.
The morning light filtering through a window shade.
The adored pet, sleeping beside us.

Somewhere along the way we began treating nature as scenery instead of a precious relationship.

And I am finding that one of the deepest forms of healing is remembering that we belong to the living world - not just as observers, but as participants.

Because healing doesn’t only happen inside us.

It also happens between us and the world we are part of.

This is one of the reasons I care so deeply about gathering in nature.

Not because beautiful places heal us on their own, but because they help create the conditions in which our bodies finally begin to soften.

When we are surrounded by calm nervous systems, trees, water, silence, and women doing the same courageous work, we get access to something that is difficult to recreate alone.

We don’t just understand ourselves differently.

We experience ourselves differently.

And that changes everything.