Half-Love; Half-heart: How do we settle?

There are moments when I sit with myself and wonder why I accept less than I deserve. Why I stay in spaces where I’m treated like I’m not enough, even though I know deep down I am. Maybe it’s punishment I put on myself. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s the belief that I don’t deserve happiness until my girls are home. I don’t always know the answer. But I know the feeling.

I know what it’s like to give everything—love, loyalty, effort—while being told I’m not really “in” the relationship. To be expected to show up like a girlfriend, like a wife, while being denied the respect and commitment that should come with it. It feels like a punch in the stomach every time. And yet, I stay. I keep giving. I keep hoping.

I’ve settled for the minimum too many times in my life. I’ve accepted crumbs when I know I am worthy of the whole meal. I know how good of a woman I am. I know I should be appreciated, wanted, and loved fully. And still, I find myself questioning: why do I allow this? Why do I keep chasing after someone who doesn’t chase me back?

Maybe you’ve asked yourself the same questions. Maybe you’ve felt the same ache—the loneliness of being half-loved, the exhaustion of pouring yourself out without being refilled. If you have, I want you to know this: I see you. I hear you. I understand you. You are not alone.

We deserve more. We deserve effort, care, and consistency. We deserve to be shown off, to be chosen, to be loved without hesitation. And even if we don’t always believe it, even if we punish ourselves or carry guilt, the truth is still there: we are worthy.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve felt the sting of being treated like you’re less than, know that I’m standing with you. I’m fighting my own battles too, but I believe in us—I believe we can stop settling, demand the love we deserve, and one day stop questioning our worth because it will finally be honored.  

I’m always here. If you ever need a shoulder to lean on or an ear to vent to, message me. I’ll never pretend my decisions are always wise—I usually know the risks before I take them. But I own my choices, I carry accountability for the pain I’ve lived through, and I try to learn from every mistake and heartbreak.  

The truth is, I know what’s acceptable and what isn’t. I know what I should and shouldn’t tolerate. Yet depression and mental battles cloud my judgment, and too often I accept things I shouldn’t. I fight wars I know I’ll never fully win. And I’ve learned I’m not alone—so many of us do this. Maybe it’s because we don’t give up easily on those we love. Maybe it’s fear of being alone or starting over. Maybe it’s guilt, or the belief that we don’t deserve happiness until our children are home.  

I’ve seen how broken the system can be, how family court can strip parents of their rights, how lack of knowledge or money becomes a weapon against us. Even when you fight and win, the financial and emotional aftermath can break the strongest person. And the truth is, the battle doesn’t end when your kids come home—healing the bond takes just as much effort.  

So we cope. We cling to pain because it reminds us we’re still alive in a world that tries to numb us. We form trauma bonds that make it almost impossible to walk away. And if you can relate to any of this, I invite you to share your story—whether in the comments or privately with me. You are not alone in this indescribable pain. Sometimes just putting it into words is the first step toward relief, and together we can carry the weight a little lighter.