Why Love Makes Us Hold On

Love is a bit like quicksand, isn’t it? You don’t fall into it carefully. You don’t calmly decide to sink. One moment, you’re standing solid, confident, and sure of yourself, and the next, you’re pulled under with no warning, no way out. The harder you fight, the deeper you’re drawn. And when you love someone deeply, truly, you don’t just walk away — not really. You might tell yourself you want to go, that it’s too much, too painful, too exhausting. But unless they push you away, unless they shut the door behind you, lock it, and throw away the key, a part of you always stays. And that’s because love is its own force — unyielding, stubborn, eternal. It clings to you even when your logical mind keeps telling you to let go.

That’s something I’ve learned the hard way. I’ve felt it — and I bet you have too. Maybe you’re feeling it right now. That impossible tug-of-war between everything you think you should do and everything your heart won’t let you do. I’ve wrestled with that tension, lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, frustrated with myself because I couldn’t seem to leave. I’ve gone around in circles, telling myself, “This isn’t good for me. I should leave. Why can’t I just leave?” But love doesn’t let you. And I think that’s because, if there’s still something — even the tiniest thing — connecting you to the other person, love won’t let you close the door.

I don’t think this is weakness — it’s human. And it’s not a new struggle, either. People have been wrestling with this for centuries. Ancient philosophers like Plato outlined it in The Symposium, describing love as something so primal, so inevitable, that it feels like one soul longing to complete itself in another. Poets keep writing about it; songs are filled with it. And religion, oh, religion never misses a chance to weigh in on love either. In 1 Corinthians, the Bible says, “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” That’s a big part of why it’s so hard to walk away. When you love someone — and they haven’t outright shut you out — you hope. And hope is a stubborn thing.

I remember this conversation with a friend once. I’d been stuck in this painful, complicated relationship for what felt like forever, and I couldn’t stop overthinking it, trying to figure out why I couldn’t gather all my pride, chuck my feelings in a box, and just leave. She looked at me and said, “You’re staying because there’s still a part of you that believes they’ll come around. When the hope goes, you’ll know. But until then? Don’t beat yourself up for holding on. That’s just what love does to us.” She was right. I did know when it was over, when the door really was shut. But it took time. Until then, that remaining thread of hope held me right where I was, no matter how much I fought it.

You know what’s fascinating? When you look deeply at love in art, history, and religion, this theme comes up time and time again. It’s everywhere. Rumi, one of my favorite poets, once said, “This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.” And that hits me, every time. Love has this wild way of quietly unmaking us, loosening all the rules we thought we lived by, replacing them with something bigger — but also messier, more unpredictable. It’s as if loving someone asks us to let go of what we think we should do and just be. Even when staying feels irrational or harder than leaving, love whispers, just barely: Wait. Hope. Stay.

It’s not just poetry that reflects this, though. Think about the deep, magnetic pull between some of the most famous love stories in history. Cleopatra and Antony. Romeo and Juliet. Penelope and Odysseus. Orpheus and Eurydice. These aren’t neat little romances with happy endings, but they are stories where love refuses to let go. People cross oceans, suffer humiliation, endure literal hell to hold on to the person they love — until something or someone forces them apart.

But, and this is important, you can’t talk about holding on to love without also talking about strength. Because there’s a line. There comes a point when love depends on mutual willingness, mutual effort. You can hang on through storms, yes. You can wait for rainy days to pass. But if the person you love starts pushing you out — shutting you down, shutting you out, telling you, in all the ways that matter, “I’m done” — then staying becomes something else entirely. Heloise and Abelard — the ultimate tragic love story — were willing to sacrifice everything for each other, but not through force. If love becomes one-sided, it stops being love. It becomes punishment.

I’ve been there, too, clutching to a relationship long after the other person had stopped returning the effort. I told myself, “They just need space, they’ll come around, they’ll see what they’re throwing away.” But they didn’t. And believe me, realizing someone doesn’t want you anymore is one of life’s hardest truths. It breaks you in a way few things can. But here’s the thing: in that heartbreak, I also found clarity — the clarity to know that love, true love, has to come from both sides. You can stay as long as their heart’s door is even slightly ajar, but when they lock it? That’s when you have to find the strength to walk away.

It’s all so deeply human, isn’t it? This complicated dance of loving someone, staying, leaving, hoping, letting go. But you know what I think? Staying doesn’t make you weak. It makes you brave. Being vulnerable, holding onto love even when it feels impossible, is one of the most courageous things a person can do. And if you sense, deep down, that there’s even a spark left between you and the person you love, how can you betray your own heart by walking away too soon? Love is a teacher. It teaches patience, humility, forgiveness, and above all, faith. Faith that it’s worth fighting for.

I think about Saint Augustine’s description of love: “It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has the eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men.” Loving someone — even when it’s hard, even when it aches — is like offering them all of those parts of yourself. And as long as the other person doesn’t sever those ties entirely, how could you possibly turn away?

So, if you’re there now — caught between love and letting go — know this: You’ll know when it’s time to leave. If their love shuts you out, if they push you away, the fight will slowly, painfully, but surely leave you too. But until then? Hanging on isn’t weakness. It’s love. It’s trust. And sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps us going. You don’t truly leave someone you love until they’ve left you first — until they’ve shown, in no uncertain terms, that they’re done. And until that moment comes, my friend, staying isn’t just a choice. It’s an act of faith. And faith, well… faith moves mountains. Maybe even hearts.