When Love Felt Like a Performance (And I Finally Walked Off Stage)

When I was 25, I believed that love had to be earned and happiness was hard work.
If you wanted to be loved by a “good man,” you had to be the hottest girl in the room, make a six-figure income, cook every cuisine, and master every technique in bed.

And honestly? I believed I was close.
Okay—maybe I only knew how to cook a few Asian dishes, but I was trying.

And then I was cheated on.
More than once.

It shattered my ego.
I started questioning my values, my identity, my worth.
I thought I had done everything “right”—so why wasn’t I enough?

Thankfully, I met a wonderful man who later became my husband.
We were soulmates. We understood each other without words—
Until we had children.

Then came the exhaustion.
The sleep-deprivation.
And the slow unraveling.

He still wanted us to be affectionate and intimate like when we were dating.
And it wasn’t just him—there were expectations from my in-laws too.
Because when you marry a man, you don’t just marry him.
You marry his entire family.

Suddenly, I was expected to be a good wife, a good mother, a good daughter-in-law, and a good business owner.
And for a while, I tried.
I ran around trying to meet everyone’s expectations because I thought it was a woman’s job to keep everyone happy.

Don’t get me wrong—I love taking care of people.
But only when it comes from the heart.
When I gave from love, it filled me.
But when it became an expectation, it drained me.
And eventually, I broke.

I had panic attacks.
My mind ran in loops—
What should I do? What’s the right thing?
What do I feel? What am I allowed to feel?

I was raised to believe that I could only be loved if I was perfect.
I remember my aunt saying she stopped talking about me to her coworkers because I became a freelancer instead of a government worker.
My mom only called if I kept sending money home each month.

So I asked myself:
Why do I deserve love if I don’t bring value to anyone?
If I stop giving, will I stop receiving love?
If I stop smiling, if I show my sadness—will anyone stay?

The idea of being unavailable terrifies me.
Because I fear it means losing connection.

So I tried harder.
I gave more.
Until one day, I collapsed.

I cried hard.
I shut the world out.
And during the holiday—when everyone else was gathering together—I stayed home alone, in bed, quietly.

And for the first time, I decided:
I will not perform.
Not today.

I needed a moment with myself.
To stop betraying the quiet voice inside me that had been whispering:

“Slow down. I can’t catch up.”

I had ignored that voice for so long.
I thought self-love was giving yourself the best things in life—
Nice clothes, expensive skincare, good food, travel, education.
But now I see:

Self-love is loving yourself right now,
when you feel broken, messy, ugly, useless.
When you’re not pleasing anyone.
When you’ve got nothing to offer.

If I can love my husband and children no matter who they become,
then I have to love myself the same way.

No fixing.
No pretending.
No rushing to “get back to normal.”

Just be.

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Even when the world says I don’t deserve love unless I burn myself up for others—
I will stay by my own side.
I will not abandon myself to be who others want me to be.

I will give myself love, freely and abundantly.

Because that’s what real love is.
Free.
It is not earned through sacrifice.
It is not deserved through usefulness.

I deserve love
even when I give nothing to anyone.