For the One Who Loves Someone They Cannot Fix

I grew up in a home with more than 60 foster children coming through our doors over the years. Some stayed longer than others, and some were only there for a little while, but I learned something about loving people at a very young age.

I learned to love them through their difficulties, through the things they were struggling with, and even through the hurt that sometimes came with loving someone who wouldn't always be there.

They came and went, and I just kept loving them.

Looking back, I wonder whether that's where some of my understanding of love became a little skewed. Somewhere along the way, I also began believing that loving someone meant continuing to absorb the hurt, regardless of what it was doing to me.

I think I began believing that if I just loved someone enough, they would eventually be okay.

I remember when one of my children was little, they loved having me put a Band-Aid on them. But every single time, they would walk away and pull it right back off.

I could put the Band-Aid on, but I couldn't make them leave it there.

And I wonder how many times I've done something similar with the people I've loved. I've tried to cover wounds I couldn't heal and love people through battles happening inside them, believing that if I just loved them enough, somehow everything would be okay.

But I've come to understand something.

I can't love someone enough to fix the battles they have within.

I can love them, encourage them, pray for them, and stand beside them. But I cannot make their choices for them, and I cannot do the work of healing that belongs to them.

And learning that was difficult for me because I had spent so much of my life believing that loving someone meant putting their needs before my own, even when it was hurting me.

Eventually, my body started to struggle, but I didn't connect it to everything I was carrying. I just assumed I was sick or needed to take more vitamins. It took other people pointing out that maybe my body was trying to tell me something before I began looking at things differently.

I had spent so much time paying attention to what everyone else needed that I hadn't really stopped to consider what I needed.

And I began to wonder if some of what I was experiencing was connected to how little care I had been giving myself.

I had always thought that putting myself first meant I was taking something away from someone else. But I was beginning to understand that taking care of myself didn't mean I loved them any less.

Loving myself wasn't selfish.

I could still love them, encourage them, pray for them, and stand beside them without abandoning myself in the process.

If you're loving someone who's struggling with battles you cannot fix, I want to invite you to think about something.

How much of yourself have you been giving away while trying to make sure someone else is okay?

Have you been so focused on their needs, their struggles, and their choices that you've forgotten to pay attention to your own?

I know how difficult it can be to love someone deeply and still recognize that you cannot make their decisions or heal the things happening inside them.

But I want you to consider what it might look like to begin giving yourself some of the same love, patience, and compassion you've been offering them.

Maybe that means taking care of your health, making time for something you enjoy, resting when you're tired, or recognizing that you don't have to carry the consequences of someone else's choices.

You don't have to stop loving them to begin loving yourself.

And you don't have to fix someone else's battles to be worthy of love.

YOU matter, too.