A few years ago I was waiting for a coach after a week-long retreat. People were chatting in that loose, tired way you do at the end of something intense. A single woman turned to a man she liked and said, “It’s a shame you’re taken. You’re just the type of man I’m looking for.”
His reply stayed with me.
“I’m not taken. I’m given.”
That raised a better question than it first appears. Am I taken, or am I given? And is there a difference that actually matters in how we love?
To answer it you have to look at what you think love is, what you want from it, and what you are prepared to do in order to experience it.
Love has two parts that get mixed up all the time. There is the inner experience — the feeling. And there are the outer behaviours we watch in the other person and treat as evidence of whether we are loved. That second part is where a lot of unnecessary suffering starts.
Just because he looked at someone else does not mean he hates you. Just because she did not text does not mean she does not care. Just because he was angry does not mean you did something wrong. Just because she disliked your shirt does not mean she is not proud of you. Just because he is moody does not mean he is doubting the relationship.
These are interpretations. At best they are guesses. At worst they are stories built from old insecurity. Anxious and overthinking minds are especially good at turning ordinary human behaviour into proof of danger. The nervous system then treats that story as fact, and the relationship becomes a place where you constantly scan for evidence instead of actually being in it.
There are, broadly, two ways of loving other people — and yourself.
Conditional love is the more familiar kind:
– I will love you if you love me – I will love you if you do as I say – I will love you if you follow my unspoken rules – I will love you because we are married – I will love you because I need to be loved back – I will love you because I ought to – If you loved me, you would not have done that – If you loved me, you would have texted – If you loved me, you would buy me flowers
This version of love is close to being *taken*. Somebody outside me is expected to give me the feeling of being loved. When they behave in a way that matches my rules and insecurities, I feel safe enough to love them — and sometimes even myself. When they do not, I feel unloved and then try to change them so I can feel better. In that model, other people are quietly put in charge of my emotional state.
Unconditional love is rarer and easier to miss:
– I love you because I choose to – There is nothing you have to do to earn that – I can respect and accept you as you are – I do not need you to be different before I can love you – There is no hidden rulebook you must follow – I can love myself without berating myself for every thought or action – I love myself enough to say no – I love myself enough to look after my body – I love myself enough not to create unnecessary drama
This version is closer to being given. Because I can generate care and respect from the inside, I can offer it without needing it returned in a particular form. I still have preferences. I still have boundaries. I am not required to stay in a situation that is harmful. But the love itself is not a bargain. It is a stance I take, not a payment I demand.
That distinction matters if you live with anxiety, Pure OCD or a strong need for certainty. Conditional love keeps the mind busy: watching, checking, interpreting, seeking reassurance, running mental reviews of conversations, trying to make the other person behave in a way that settles the inner doubt. The relationship becomes another place where the system feeds.
Unconditional love does not mean becoming passive or saintly. If someone is hurting you, you can create distance and still hold a clean attitude toward them. You can leave and still refuse to turn the whole story into hatred or self-blame. You can stay and still stop using their moods as the measure of your worth. The point is that your inner state is no longer entirely outsourced.
People who love this way often look, from the outside, as if they do not care enough. They do less drama. They do not chase. They do not punish with silence or explode in order to feel heard. That can be misread as indifference. In practice it is usually the opposite: they are less owned by the need to control the other person’s behaviour so they can feel okay.
Two questions are useful here:
Am I taken, or given? Is my love mostly conditional, or am I learning to make it less so?
Unconditional love is difficult at first because most of us were trained in the other model. We were taught, directly or by example, that love is something you get if you are good enough, useful enough, attractive enough, or compliant enough. We were also taught that if you love someone they should automatically love you back in the way you recognise. That programming runs deep.
The work is not to become a person with no needs. The work is to stop treating every fluctuation in another person as a verdict on you. It is to practise self-respect so that care can be offered rather than extracted. It is to notice the story you attach to a late reply, a sharp tone, a moment of distance — and to remember that the story is yours.
Love, in this sense, is less a feeling that arrives when conditions are perfect and more a way of relating that you can choose, withdraw, or reshape. Feelings will still rise and fall. That is normal. What changes is whether those feelings are allowed to run the whole relationship.
I am not claiming to have finished this. I am saying that once you see the difference between being taken and being given, the old bargain starts to look expensive. It costs calmness. It costs honesty. It costs the chance to be with another person without constantly managing them, or yourself, so that love will feel safe.
If this subject matters to you, it is worth looking at more than the feeling of love. Look at the rules you have for it. Look at what you demand as proof. Look at how quickly you abandon yourself when the proof does not arrive. That is where the real work sits.
Access this teaching and over 60 other videos for $15 a month, along with guided meditations and practical workbooks. These are The Chronicles of Common Sense, forged from facing life directly and learning through real-world experience. They guided me out of anxiety, OCD, bipolar depression and crippling self-consciousness — and helped me become more trusting, energetic, optimistic, self-loving and courageous.
This work reaches mind, body and soul. It gives you the tools to step courageously into the unknown. Knowledge only becomes wisdom when we test it through action. Those who act, adjust, and act again (ERP) will always move further than those who stay in thinking and worrying.
Taken or Given? Conditional and Unconditional Love
A few years ago I was waiting for a coach after a week-long retreat. People were chatting in that loose, tired way you do at the end of something intense. A single woman turned to a man she liked and said, “It’s a shame you’re taken. You’re just the type of man I’m looking for.”
His reply stayed with me.
“I’m not taken. I’m given.”
That raised a better question than it first appears. Am I taken, or am I given? And is there a difference that actually matters in how we love?
To answer it you have to look at what you think love is, what you want from it, and what you are prepared to do in order to experience it.
Love has two parts that get mixed up all the time. There is the inner experience — the feeling. And there are the outer behaviours we watch in the other person and treat as evidence of whether we are loved. That second part is where a lot of unnecessary suffering starts.
Just because he looked at someone else does not mean he hates you.
Just because she did not text does not mean she does not care.
Just because he was angry does not mean you did something wrong.
Just because she disliked your shirt does not mean she is not proud of you.
Just because he is moody does not mean he is doubting the relationship.
These are interpretations. At best they are guesses. At worst they are stories built from old insecurity. Anxious and overthinking minds are especially good at turning ordinary human behaviour into proof of danger. The nervous system then treats that story as fact, and the relationship becomes a place where you constantly scan for evidence instead of actually being in it.
There are, broadly, two ways of loving other people — and yourself.
Conditional love is the more familiar kind:
– I will love you if you love me
– I will love you if you do as I say
– I will love you if you follow my unspoken rules
– I will love you because we are married
– I will love you because I need to be loved back
– I will love you because I ought to
– If you loved me, you would not have done that
– If you loved me, you would have texted
– If you loved me, you would buy me flowers
This version of love is close to being *taken*. Somebody outside me is expected to give me the feeling of being loved. When they behave in a way that matches my rules and insecurities, I feel safe enough to love them — and sometimes even myself. When they do not, I feel unloved and then try to change them so I can feel better. In that model, other people are quietly put in charge of my emotional state.
Unconditional love is rarer and easier to miss:
– I love you because I choose to
– There is nothing you have to do to earn that
– I can respect and accept you as you are
– I do not need you to be different before I can love you
– There is no hidden rulebook you must follow
– I can love myself without berating myself for every thought or action
– I love myself enough to say no
– I love myself enough to look after my body
– I love myself enough not to create unnecessary drama
This version is closer to being given. Because I can generate care and respect from the inside, I can offer it without needing it returned in a particular form. I still have preferences. I still have boundaries. I am not required to stay in a situation that is harmful. But the love itself is not a bargain. It is a stance I take, not a payment I demand.
That distinction matters if you live with anxiety, Pure OCD or a strong need for certainty. Conditional love keeps the mind busy: watching, checking, interpreting, seeking reassurance, running mental reviews of conversations, trying to make the other person behave in a way that settles the inner doubt. The relationship becomes another place where the system feeds.
Unconditional love does not mean becoming passive or saintly. If someone is hurting you, you can create distance and still hold a clean attitude toward them. You can leave and still refuse to turn the whole story into hatred or self-blame. You can stay and still stop using their moods as the measure of your worth. The point is that your inner state is no longer entirely outsourced.
People who love this way often look, from the outside, as if they do not care enough. They do less drama. They do not chase. They do not punish with silence or explode in order to feel heard. That can be misread as indifference. In practice it is usually the opposite: they are less owned by the need to control the other person’s behaviour so they can feel okay.
Two questions are useful here:
Am I taken, or given?
Is my love mostly conditional, or am I learning to make it less so?
Unconditional love is difficult at first because most of us were trained in the other model. We were taught, directly or by example, that love is something you get if you are good enough, useful enough, attractive enough, or compliant enough. We were also taught that if you love someone they should automatically love you back in the way you recognise. That programming runs deep.
The work is not to become a person with no needs. The work is to stop treating every fluctuation in another person as a verdict on you. It is to practise self-respect so that care can be offered rather than extracted. It is to notice the story you attach to a late reply, a sharp tone, a moment of distance — and to remember that the story is yours.
Love, in this sense, is less a feeling that arrives when conditions are perfect and more a way of relating that you can choose, withdraw, or reshape. Feelings will still rise and fall. That is normal. What changes is whether those feelings are allowed to run the whole relationship.
I am not claiming to have finished this. I am saying that once you see the difference between being taken and being given, the old bargain starts to look expensive. It costs calmness. It costs honesty. It costs the chance to be with another person without constantly managing them, or yourself, so that love will feel safe.
If this subject matters to you, it is worth looking at more than the feeling of love. Look at the rules you have for it. Look at what you demand as proof. Look at how quickly you abandon yourself when the proof does not arrive. That is where the real work sits.
Access this teaching and over 60 other videos for $15 a month, along with guided meditations and practical workbooks. These are The Chronicles of Common Sense, forged from facing life directly and learning through real-world experience. They guided me out of anxiety, OCD, bipolar depression and crippling self-consciousness — and helped me become more trusting, energetic, optimistic, self-loving and courageous.
This work reaches mind, body and soul. It gives you the tools to step courageously into the unknown. Knowledge only becomes wisdom when we test it through action. Those who act, adjust, and act again (ERP) will always move further than those who stay in thinking and worrying.
What do you desire?
The next action is yours. Take it.
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