"Love Shouldn't Be Survival"

What a Girl, a Park Bench, and a Sunflower Taught Me About Letting Go

She sat on the edge of the park bench, arms wrapped tightly around her body, hidden beneath a soft gray shawl. To anyone walking by, she looked peaceful. Serene, even. But if you looked just a little closer, you’d see the tired weight in her posture, the stiffness in her shoulders, and the silence in her eyes that had nothing to do with rest.

In front of her stood a tall sunflower, its golden face turned confidently toward the sun, basking in light. It didn’t care who was watching. It bloomed anyway.

And somehow, in that quiet moment, the girl realized something she had ignored for years: she had been surviving love, not living in it.

The Love That Drains You

There was once a time when she thought love meant holding on no matter what. She believed that to be loyal meant to be quiet. That if she just tried harder, gave more, stayed longer, it would all work out. But love shouldn’t feel like a test of endurance. And yet, that’s exactly what it had become.

He didn’t raise his voice much, and he never laid a hand on her, but his absence hurt more than any bruise could. The neglect, the lack of affection, the way she constantly felt like she was asking for too much when all she wanted was to feel seen. She thought maybe it was her fault. Maybe if she changed a little more, bent a little further, he would finally look at her like he did in the beginning.

But the beginning was long gone. And so was she — slowly, quietly disappearing into the background of someone else’s story.

The Moment of Truth

That morning in the park wasn’t about flowers or benches or breezes. It was about truth. The truth that she had stayed too long in a place that made her feel small. That she had confused love with obligation. That she had taught herself how to exist without taking up space.

But looking at the sunflower, tall and unapologetic, something inside her cracked open.

The flower didn’t lean to accommodate anything. It didn’t bend because the world told it to shrink. It stood in the sun because that’s where it belonged. It didn’t need permission.

Neither did she.

The Decision to Leave

The decision to leave didn’t come with fireworks or angry words. It came in waves of quiet knowing. She packed her things on a Thursday morning. No one begged her to stay. That silence confirmed what she already feared: her absence meant as little as her presence.

But for the first time, she didn’t cry. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because she was finally doing something for herself. Something that didn’t revolve around being needed, wanted, or tolerated.

She walked away from the love she had begged for. And into the love she was finally learning to give herself.

Blooming Forward

Now, sitting in that park, she watched the sunflower sway gently in the breeze, untouched and unbothered. It reminded her of the kind of love she now knew she deserved — not loud, not dramatic, but steady. Safe. Rooted in sunlight.

She didn’t want a love that required her to lose herself to keep it. She wanted a love where she could stay fully herself and still be embraced. A love that didn’t confuse chaos with passion. A love that felt like peace.

Because love shouldn’t feel like survival.

It should feel like breath. Like rest. Like warmth.

For You, If You’re Still Surviving

If you’re reading this and you're tired — tired of explaining yourself, tired of feeling invisible, tired of fighting for someone who won’t fight for you — this is your sign.

You are not too much. You are not too hard to love. You’re just in the wrong kind of love.

Don’t let loneliness convince you to settle for pain dressed up as passion. Don’t let fear convince you to stay where you’re only surviving.

You were born to bloom.

And you don’t need permission to turn your face toward the sun.