It’s the month of Love- or something like that…

Why Is Love So Hard for Humans?

Let Me Tell You What I Just Realized About Love

Okay. Sit with me for a second because this one has been working on me.

I’ve been walking around thinking I understood love. I talk about it. I write about it. I pray about it. I want it in my marriage, in my friendships, in my leadership, in my kids’ hearts. I want to reflect God well. I want to build a life that actually looks like Jesus.

And here’s what I’ve discovered: it is incredibly hard for humans to love. And it is even harder for us to accept love.

Which is insane when you think about it, because God is love. Not loving. Not “very loving.” He is love. Scripture doesn’t say God is loving. It says, “God is love.” (1 John 4:8)

So if I say I want to be godly, mature, sanctified, refined, transformed, all the Christian buzzwords, then that means I must love love.

And apparently… I don’t. Not fully.

Because the second love requires surrender, my system flinches.

The second love requires me to release control, I start negotiating.

The second love requires me to stay open when I feel exposed, my internal voice goes, “Yeah, but let’s be wise.”

And sometimes “wise” is just self-protection dressed up in spiritual language.

That realization felt like someone turned on a light in a room I didn’t know I was avoiding.

Because when I really look at it, the darkness isn’t that I don’t feel affection. The darkness is that I brace. I brace when I feel misunderstood. I brace when I feel unseen. I brace when I feel vulnerable. I brace when I feel like I’m the one giving more.

Love says stay soft. My ego says tighten up.

Love says forgive. My pride says keep receipts just in case.

Love says trust. My nervous system says absolutely not, we have data.

And here’s the part that messed me up the most: if God is love, then every place I resist love is a place I am resisting Him. Not intentionally. Not rebelliously. Just subtly. Quietly. In the small reflexes.

And when I started thinking about it neurologically, it made even more sense. Our brains are wired for survival. The amygdala is constantly scanning for threat. If love ever felt inconsistent, chaotic, or conditional in your early story, your body learned something. It learned that closeness can cost you. It learned that vulnerability can backfire. It learned that the safest position is slightly guarded.

So now when steady, covenant, sacrificial love shows up, whether from God or from people who genuinely care about you, your body doesn’t always relax. Sometimes it braces. Sometimes it tests. Sometimes it questions. Sometimes it tries to control the outcome so you don’t get blindsided.

That’s not because we are monsters. It’s because we are wired by experience.

But here’s where it gets confronting.

If I stay wired that way, I will never fully experience the love of God. I will sing about it. I will preach about it. I will write about it. But I won’t rest in it. I won’t receive it cleanly. I will filter it through insecurity, performance, or control.

And then I will build everything on top of that distortion.

My marriage. My leadership. My motherhood. My ministry. My influence.

All of it subtly shaped by a slightly distorted definition of love.

And that is not a small thing.

Because Scripture does not say love is a bonus trait. It says without love, I am nothing. Not slightly off. Not less effective. Nothing.

“If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge… but do not have love, I am nothing.” (1 Corinthians 13:2)

So when I tell you I care about this, it’s not because I’m trying to be sentimental. It’s because I refuse to build a life that looks impressive but lacks the one thing heaven actually measures. I’ve decided that I’m Strong Enough to be Soft!

I started asking myself hard questions.

Where do I resist receiving love because it makes me feel exposed?

Where do I confuse control with strength?

Where do I call self-protection “discernment”?

Where do I perform instead of rest?

Where do I dominate instead of surrender?

And the most uncomfortable one: do I actually love love, or do I love being in control?

And here’s the kicker — Scripture also says, “Perfect love casts out fear.” (1 John 4:18)

Which means if fear is loud in me, love hasn’t fully occupied that space yet.

Because you cannot dominate and love at the same time. You cannot grip tightly and be surrendered simultaneously. You cannot demand safety guarantees and also experience deep intimacy.

Something has to give.

And I’m realizing the rewiring has to happen at the identity level first. If I do not believe I am secure, beloved, chosen, adopted, safe in Him, then I will always manage love instead of receiving it. I will tweak it, analyze it, brace against it, test it. I will never just rest.

But if I let Him rewire that place, if I let the Spirit retrain my reflexes, if I let my nervous system learn that steady love is not a trap, then everything changes. My reactions change. My tone changes. My expectations change. My ability to forgive deepens. My need to control decreases.

And suddenly love is not fragile. It is strong.

This is not about becoming softer. It is about becoming surrendered.

It is about letting light shine in the exact places where fear has been quietly running the show.

Because I’m not struggling to love in theory. I’m struggling to stay open in practice.

I want intimacy, but I want guarantees.

I want connection, but I want leverage.

I want to be known, but only the polished parts.

And somewhere in all of that, I call it wisdom.

But maybe the revelation is this: if God is love, then the deepest spiritual maturity is not more knowledge, not more influence, not more productivity. It is the ability to love without bracing and to receive love without suspicion.

Dang.

That one confronts me.

Because that means the next level for me is not doing more. It is surrendering more. It is letting Him rewire what fear wired. It is choosing softness when everything in me wants to tighten up. It is trusting that love is not weakness, it is the most powerful force in the Kingdom.

And if that’s true, then I don’t just want to talk about love.

I want to become someone who actually loves love.

And if I’m being honest, I think that’s the work in front of me right now.

And here’s the part that makes this impossible to ignore.

God has been relentlessly good to me. Patient when I was inconsistent. Kind when I was guarded. Faithful when I was bracing. Steady when I was calculating.

He has never loved me strategically. He has never loved me conditionally. He has never said, “Let’s see how she performs this week.” His love has been secure, constant, unthreatened.

So how could I see that — really see that — and not take the next step?

How could I recognize that He is love and then choose to stay wired to fear?

How could I say I want to look like Christ while protecting the very reflexes that look nothing like Him?

If I’m not reflecting God, then who am I reflecting?

Because I am always reflecting something.

If I’m braced, I’m reflecting fear.

If I’m controlling, I’m reflecting insecurity.

If I’m keeping score, I’m reflecting pride.

If I’m withholding softness, I’m reflecting self-preservation.

And none of those are Him.

That’s the lightbulb.

This isn’t about becoming nicer. It’s about becoming accurate. If He is love, then my life should increasingly mirror that reality. Not perfectly. But progressively. Intentionally. Courageously.

God is too good for me to stay guarded.

His love has been too consistent for me to keep negotiating it.

At some point revelation demands response.

And I don’t want to be someone who sees the light and then chooses the familiar darkness because it feels safer.

If love is who He is, then this is not optional growth. This is alignment.

And honestly… how could I not step into that?

And if that confronts you a little, good.

It confronted me first.