Why Do You Love Me?

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This is not a story that says that I needed someone to love me before I could love myself. This is a story about realizing that I am worthy of love, from myself and others, no matter what I've gone through. You don't need someone else to be whole, but sometimes it helps to hear that you're loved, and that you're good, and that even if you can't see it, others do.

-

"Why do you love me?" We were laying in his bed, him on his back, me on my side with my head in his chest. I traced his jawline with the tip of my finger, and he hugged me with one arm, whispering his answer.

"Because I do."

This was the answer he always gave, to the question I always asked. I didn't ask it in a 'tell me reasons' way, I asked in a 'why? Genuinely, why? What did I do, who am I, to deserve to be with such an amazing person? Why?' way. For so long, I hadn't thought myself worthy of love, and even after three years, my insecurities and trauma kept telling me that he didn't really love me, that he pitied me and was just too far into the relationship to leave, that he'd be better off with someone else, that this would all come crashing down around me, just like my relationships always had.

My mind, asshole that it was, gave me a million reasons for not deserving something like this, someone like him.

I was too broken, too scarred. Too loud. Too chubby. I had fat arms and a soft tummy and a double-chin when I looked down. I had a not-so-great mental health record. My mood swings were too much to handle.

I'd explained all this to him, and for every problem, for every imperfection that I threw his way, he had an answer as to why it wasn't even a concern.

"You are not broken, and what happened to you was not your fault. You are a whole person who has been hurt. I'm here for you. You are not fat, you are curvy and absolutely perfect for me. I fell in love with your body and your mind the day we met. Your mental health is something we can handle together. Your mood swings are not too much to handle, and no matter what happens, we will work through it. Both of us."

And yet, my brain hissed, 'you don't deserve him. Or anyone, for that matter.'

I snuggled closer to him to drive my thoughts away with his warmth.

-

A few days later, I was having a horrible mental health day. He held me as I cried, held me when I stopped crying and was just numb. We lay down in his bed again, and were quiet for a long time. Then, I opened my mouth, and I asked him what I always asked him, the question that I was sure got annoying but that he said never did, because I needed the reassurance in that moment.

"Why do you love me?"

I wasn't expecting his answer.

He sat up, and pulled me up with him. He pressed his forehead against mine. His whispered as he twined our fingers together.

"I love you because I see you. I see the good. I see the way you're always ready to help anyone with anything. I see the tenderness that you hold in your eyes, I see that you choose to be kind when your experiences could have made you cold. I see the protectiveness you have for those you love. I see the way you work hard for what you want, I admire that you have goals, I love that you have dreams. I SEE YOU. I love you because no matter how you see yourself, I see the heart inside you. If you could look at yourself through my eyes, you'd know." His voice got thick, desperate, like he was about to cry.

He continued, holding me tightly. "I love you on purpose. You didn't trick me into loving you. I walked into this relationship with my eyes wide open because I wanted to. I chose to. I'm still choosing to. I need you too see that."

He gently cupped my face in one hand, made me look up at him. I was crying again, amazed that someone could really, truly feel that way about me. Even though I'm sure my face was blotchy and my eyes were swollen and my nose was red and runny, he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Why do I love you?" He asked my own question. "Because I do. Because I choose to. I love you on purpose, and I always will."

-

I still have bad mental health days. I still think my arms are too big and my stomach is too soft. My mind still tells me I'm not enough.

But now, I can look in the mirror, and I can tell myself: I am loved, and not in spite of who I am, but because of who I am. I am loved on purpose.

And I try. I try to choose to love myself. Some days it's hard, but most days, I smile, and I love myself on purpose.