Love Does Not Own

For a long time, I believed love and freedom were opposites. I thought if you loved deeply enough, you would eventually have to give something up. Your freedom. Your independence. Your authority over yourself. Your ability to leave. Your ability to choose.

And somewhere along the way, I also learned that receiving could be dangerous and had conditions.

In my experience, love had meant that if you gave something to me, it also gave you the right to it without asking or caring about me first.

This was a prime example of that concept.

My late husband, at one point, was the sole money maker. He had gotten into my purse one day and took out a prescription I had and proceeded to take it. I said, “Please let me know when you do this because then I will know if I need to get more for myself and won’t run out when I need them.”

He answered, “Well, I bought them. I don’t need to tell you anything.”

This, of course, made me mad. I was not saying that he could not have the item. I was asking for communication and reciprocity because, in reality, I would share with you, but at least give me the courtesy to ask first. They were, after all, in MY purse. He totally ignored my needs or feelings in the matter and also took my rights because he had bought it. And no, he was not joking.

This was my perception of what happened, if someone helped me, supported me, paid for something, protected me, or gave me something I needed, part of me quietly wondered what that would cost me later. Would they ignore my voice? Would they use that as leverage over me to get something? Would they believe they had earned access because of the giving? Would receiving create obligation or expectations? Would care become control?

Giving always felt safer to me, but slowly I realized that I needed to have love too.

I could decide how much I gave, when I gave, and what I was willing to offer. I could love freely because I was still in control of what was leaving me.

Receiving was different. Receiving required openness. It required trust. It required me to believe that someone could give to me without buying a piece of me in return.

It makes you vulnerable.

That was much harder, and then love showed me something else.

I did not want to be owned, but I very much did want belonging, and that distinction changed everything. For a long time, I had confused protecting my freedom with protecting myself from belonging. I did not realize I could have both.

I wanted to have love, family, intimacy, passion, joy, desire, connection, sex, partnership, laughter, and to share in an everyday life. I wanted to know where someone’s heart was. I wanted to matter.

But I do not want love to become possession, control of me or them, or ownership.

I did not want “I care about you” to quietly turn into “therefore I get to decide for you and you have no rights.” I did not want “I gave this to you” to become “therefore you owe me or I can do whatever I want.” I did not want commitment to become captivity or to be caged.

I also did not want freedom to require disconnection from people I deeply care about.

That is where I began to understand something I had never had language for before.

Love does not own.

Love does not say: You are mine, therefore I get to dictate your life and you forget about yours.

When someone takes your power or overpowers you, you don’t forget that.

Love does not need captivity to prove devotion. Love does not need control to prove commitment. Love does not need another person to become smaller so the relationship can survive.

Real love has to make room for two people who are still works in progress, always learning about themselves, life, and each other. It is trying to both come to the table with compassion and understanding because you love them. It is learning how to balance your needs while also honoring someone else’s.

Two people who choose to be with each other, not because they have to or feel obligated to, but because they want to.

Two people who can remain sovereign and retain authority over themselves. Two people who can move toward one another without disappearing inside each other. Two people who can give without leverage and receive without debt.

Two people who understand that intimacy is not ownership. That belonging is not possession. That commitment is not imprisonment. That freedom does not have to mean abandoning the relationship in order to not lose yourself.

I can belong with you without belonging to you. I am still sovereign.

That may be one of the most important things I have ever learned about love.

Because the kind of love I want now is not built on control or obligation.

It is built on choice.

I want you free enough that staying means something. You want to be there. The relationship brings something to both of us, and we continue to grow.

I want to be free enough that loving you does not cost me myself and make me forget who I am.

I want us both to know that we are here because we choose to be. Not because one of us owns the other. Not because one of us owes the other. Not because fear is holding the bond together or because we feel obligated.

But because love is the glue.

Maybe that is what mature love really is.

Choice. Again and again. I choose to be with you.

And when love finally learns that it does not own, it becomes something much more powerful.

It becomes trust, and trust is what allows love to stay free.

I want that.