Love Wasn’t What I Thought It Was

 Episode Summary: "UR a CURE: Inner Power" – Ep. 14

In this deeply personal episode, the host opens up about growing up in a household shaped by addiction and emotional unpredictability — and how those early experiences quietly sculpt our understanding of love and intimacy in adulthood. What unfolds is a candid exploration of codependency, the subconscious desire to stabilize others emotionally as a way to feel safe.

💡 Key Themes Explored:

·       Childhood survival patterns: How adapting to chaos bred hypervigilance, self-sacrifice, and emotional sensitivity.

·       Love vs. longing: The distortion of romantic relationships rooted in an unhealed past.

·       Codependency revealed: Recognizing toxic dynamics like gaslighting, people-pleasing, and emotional enmeshment.

·       Healing journey: Discovering how awareness, reflection, and emotional regulation can lead to personal transformation — and the possibility of healthier love.

💬 Core Insights:

·       Healing affects not just the self, but the relationship space between people.

·       Emotional boundaries are crucial for empaths to reclaim inner clarity.

·       Real love isn’t dramatic or intense — it’s grounded, safe, and respectful.

·       Peace and “boring” stability are powerful signs of healing, not signs of failure.

·       Love grows through witnessing, not fixing; through presence, not pressure.

🌱 Through this vulnerable story, listeners are invited to reflect on their own emotional blueprints and begin untangling who they are from who they had to be to survive.

As healing unfolds, the host describes how shifting her own emotional energy created space for healthier, more conscious love. The episode dives into the journey of transforming codependent patterns rooted in childhood — including people-pleasing, emotional enmeshment, and the addiction to chaos masked as passion.

The host embraces a new paradigm of interdependence — love as mutual growth, where each person is free to evolve without being reshaped. It’s a call to pause the rollercoaster and choose the quiet courage of emotional clarity.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode 14 of my podcast, UR a CURE: Inner Power. In this episode, I’ll be talking about something that feels especially important to me right now. I’ll be exploring how those of us who grew up in homes affected by addiction or other forms of dysfunction tend to perceive romantic relationships — our vision of love and the kinds of relationships we often find ourselves in.

This topic is incredibly close to my heart, as I’m currently experiencing some deep revelations around what love truly is — and what it isn't.

Maybe you’ve heard of codependency before? I had, but I never really explored it. I thought it didn’t apply to me because I identified more as an adult child of alcoholics. For me, codependency was something I associated with my mother.

But when you're in a relationship, those toxic patterns — the ways you were taught to perceive romantic love — don’t magically disappear. Even if you’re self-aware, even if you’ve begun healing your inner child, those patterns can stay hidden, tucked just outside the reach of your awareness.

Why? Because often, we only scan our reactions, our emotions, and our thought patterns. What’s happening between us and our partner — in the dynamic itself — can go unnoticed.

That’s exactly what happened to me. I knew I was deeply sensitive to other people’s emotions. I knew I tended to prioritize someone else’s happiness over my own. As a child, my survival depended on my parents being emotionally stable. Their peace became my safety.

So if someone was angry or upset, I’d put on my clown hat and try to make them happy. I felt awful doing it. I sacrificed what I felt — everything I was experiencing — just to help that person return to a place of emotional stability.

As a child, this coping mechanism felt like a lifeline. It gave me something tangible to hold onto in a world that often felt chaotic and unsteady. By constantly adjusting myself — being helpful, emotionally tuned-in — I believed I could shift the emotional climate of my home. Maybe, just maybe, if I did enough, I could earn love… or at the very least, a sense of safety.

My life was wildly unpredictable. Each day carried a silent question: Would Dad be drunk again? Would the tension thicken or thin out? There were patterns — a rollercoaster of emotional ups and downs. Some days seemed “okay,” but never quite safe enough to relax into. Even the calm held an edge, as if something bad was waiting just around the corner.

That’s what made it so hard. After those fleeting “good” moments, there came a haunting phase — the anticipatory fear. It was like living in the eye of a storm, knowing the chaos would return soon. I lived in a constant in-between — not quite peaceful, not fully chaotic, but always tense. I became super alert, always watching and feeling for changes around me. I learned to sense when someone’s mood was about to shift or when trouble was coming. It was like I was always on duty, trying to keep things calm before something bad could happen. 

And while that made me “functional” in a dysfunctional environment, it also taught me that my worth was tied to how well I could make my parents happy. I did that in many ways, being invisible was one of them, being a clown another time when needed. It was all done to finally reach the goal: to be loved!

 Of course, no child has the power to change an adult — especially one who doesn’t want to change. No matter how loving, how careful, how hopeful I was, it simply wasn’t enough. Change only comes when someone chooses it for themselves. I was trying to move mountains that didn’t want to budge. In truth, I was set up to fail.

And yet, without realizing it, I carried that same pattern into adulthood. I entered a relationship where I found myself once again trying to change someone — hoping that if I tried hard enough, they’d become more loving, more respectful, safer. But I was trapped in something toxic. There was no real love, no mutual respect. Just a cycle of blame, gaslighting, and belittling. I kept giving more and more, hoping for connection… but the more I gave, the more I lost myself.

I wasn’t just trying to fix my partner. I was unconsciously trying to rewrite my own past. Hoping that this time, maybe, the story would have a different ending.

This is the introductory story for my main topic: codependency. I was addicted to the chemical substances released into my body whenever I strategized what to say or how to react. Even worrying about my future triggered that addictive rush. I was hooked on the uncertainty — not knowing what each day would bring. Would my partner be in a good mood, or would he lash out without reason? I was constantly walking on eggshells.

These feelings — and the flood of chemicals they stirred in my body — became familiar. My body recognized them as normal. Painful as it was, that chaos was what I knew.

Each night, I tossed and turned, wrestling with the same thought: I want to leave this person. I was teetering on the edge of ending the relationship.

It felt like a miracle. My partner began to shift — suddenly there was more kindness, more respect in the way he spoke, more patience in how he responded. For the first time, it felt like we were growing together, not just surviving separately. The change didn’t happen overnight, but it was real. And it mirrored something deeper: my own transformation.

When I began consciously working through my past, something inside me awakened. I became aware of the emotional triggers I carried, the ways I would react almost automatically to certain situations. I started asking myself real questions: Why do I feel this way? Where does this response come from? Is this emotion truly about what's happening now, or is it rooted in something old — maybe even something from childhood?

Little by little, I pieced it together. I learned to sit with my feelings instead of running from them. I questioned long-held beliefs that no longer served me. I stopped blaming myself for everything, and began holding space for the person I was becoming.

And somehow, as I changed — as I healed — my energy shifted. That shift created space for something new to bloom between us. My partner started meeting me where I was… not perfectly, but willingly. It wasn’t just about him changing — it was about both of us finding a new rhythm, grounded in awareness, honesty, and mutual growth.

Healing is not linear — and it's never-ending. We don’t just heal individually; we also heal what exists between us, and that too is a work in progress.

We both come from dysfunctional families, which means we’ve each had to confront our own demons. As an empath and someone who’s always tried to fix everything, I found myself still addicted to the emotional highs and lows rooted in my upbringing. And he was too.

That realization — that awakening — was a breakthrough for both of us. Those chemical patterns formed years ago had us hooked. Even now, we still fall into them sometimes, albeit on a much smaller scale. But the patterns are there.

At this point, we’re both making a conscious effort to stay deeply aware of the interactions between us.

For so long, you were absorbing others’ emotional weather like a sponge: his frustrations, his moods, the tension in the room… and it blurred your own inner compass. You didn’t just feel empathy — you lived in others’ feelings. And that left yours muted, hidden beneath layers of noise that weren’t even yours to carry.

But now, you’re choosing something different. You’re slowing down. You’re tuning inward and asking: “What’s mine? What’s not?” That simple question — “How am I feeling right now?” — becomes a lifeline back to yourself. It interrupts the auto-pilot response, gives you space to breathe, and helps you spot when you’ve started drifting into someone else’s emotional lane.

This is emotional hygiene for empaths. Just like we brush our teeth or wash our hands, you’re tending to your emotional boundaries every day. Not out of selfishness, but out of self-respect. Because knowing your own emotional landscape is what lets you show up in relationships without losing yourself in them.

So, that was the first step. The next step is recognizing the urge I feel to be funny whenever he’s angry or upset. I pause and tell myself: Stop. Don’t do it. Because it never ended well. I’d end up feeling frustrated and hurt, simply because he didn’t want humor — or a hug — when he was angry. I always thought it was my duty to make him happy and content. Not anymore.

The next step is about breaking the cycle of emotional ups and downs. Remember, I had those old patterns: things would feel “good,” then tension would build, followed by a low — sometimes a fight — and the cycle would repeat itself. Now, we try to be as boring as possible. And I mean that literally — being boring is our goal. It’s hard, because of course you want those feel-good, happy moments. But sometimes, peace and predictability are what healing actually looks like.

For the longest time, I thought love meant intensity. Those butterflies in the stomach, the electric rush, the dramatic highs and lows — that was the language of love I had learned. It felt alive. It felt powerful. And to be honest, it felt familiar. Because when your nervous system is wired for unpredictability or chaos, those “chemical surges” — adrenaline, dopamine, cortisol — can start to feel like connection.

So when someone shouted "I love you" in a moment of passion, it felt real. When emotions flared — whether joy or rage — it seemed like proof that the relationship mattered. That the love was big. Loud. Dramatic. And that somehow made it valid.

But I’ve come to learn: that’s not love. Not real love.

Real love is steady. It’s calm. It’s safe. It’s the kind that whispers instead of screams. It's the quiet glance of someone who sees you, truly sees you, and chooses to stay — not out of obligation, but out of care. It's the love that sets boundaries, listens with compassion, and respects your autonomy.

I got lost in the noise of intensity. And I know I’m not the only one. So many of us were raised on a diet of romantic movies, novels, and stories that glorify chaos as passion. Where jealousy is mistaken for devotion. Where screaming matches get resolved with kisses. Where walking away is just another step in the drama.

But that’s fantasy. Real love isn’t cinematic. It’s grounded. It doesn’t drain you — it nourishes you. 

I share this with an open heart, trusting that it will land where it’s meant to — maybe in someone’s ears who’s been searching for clarity, or in someone’s soul who’s been aching for peace. I’m not here to preach, but to offer a truth I’ve come to know through experience: growth in relationships begins with growth in the self.

Right now, I’m choosing to stay conscious. I’m tuning in to how my body reacts, how my mind interprets, and how my emotions rise and fall. I’m no longer welcoming the rollercoaster — the chaos disguised as passion, the highs that crash into lows. That kind of intensity used to feel like love. But now, I know better.

I’m aiming for something different. Something healthier. Something rooted in interdependence — where love doesn’t mean losing myself, and connection doesn’t mean control.

One of the most powerful truths I’ve learned comes from Darlene Lancer, a therapist and author who writes about codependency and emotional freedom. She says: “We accept and don’t try to change one another.” That’s the kind of love I want to embody. Not the kind that molds someone into a fantasy, but the kind that honors who they are — flaws, quirks, and all.

Real love isn’t about fixing. It’s about witnessing. Love doesn’t require a toolbox. It doesn’t come with a checklist of flaws to repair or traits to replace. Instead, love asks us to see — to truly observe someone in their authentic form. Witnessing means offering your presence without judgment, your attention without condition. It’s sitting with discomfort, allowing vulnerability, and embracing evolution without rushing it.

It’s about standing beside someone as they evolve. This isn’t passive. It’s an active commitment to hold space while someone grows — whether through healing, learning, stumbling, or blooming. You don’t lead their transformation, but you stay present through it. You celebrate their breakthroughs and support them through breakdowns. You cheer them on without choreographing the steps.

Not dragging them toward your version of growth. This is where so many relationships unravel. We project our own healing onto others. We impose timelines, expectations, and definitions that may not belong to them. But their journey isn’t ours to direct. Growth isn’t one-size-fits-all. True love honors autonomy. It doesn’t ask, “Are you changing the way I want?” It asks, “Are you becoming more you?”

So I’m staying alert. I’m staying awake. I’m practicing the kind of love that feels like freedom — for me and for whoever walks beside me.

As always I wish you all the best. I encourage you to reach out to me with any questions you have. For more info on my coaching programme check out my website at www.uracure.com