To be loved is to be known.
I got the title for this article earlier this year. Honestly, as soon as I get a title, I sit with it and write while the inspiration is fresh.
But this article was a struggle, not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because what I wrote didn’t feel like it captured the weight of the message I sensed behind the title.
So, I left it.
When the article came back to me on Sunday, I knew it was time to give it another try.
I told myself to leave love content for Valentine’s month — that seemed appropriate.
But love articles keep chasing me, and sometimes I succumb.
Because once a lover girl, always a lover girl.
And maybe that’s okay, or maybe it’s not.
I am learning that love isn’t something you can contain or schedule — it finds you in the quiet moments, taps you on the shoulder when you’re busy, sometimes demands all of your attention, and sometimes demands to be spoken about even when you think it’s not the right time.
The more I thought about this title—"To be loved is to be known"—the more I realised why it stayed with me. Or at least, I think I do.
We often think of love as grand gestures — words spoken while counting the stars, or promises made under the weight of emotions.
I’ve even heard people say that, to them, love is loud. And yes, those things are beautiful.
But love can be loud, grand, and filled with promises, but it can still feel empty.
But there is a kind of love that holds you — the kind that anchors you.
The one that is deeper, gentler, kinder.
It’s not just in the saying "I love you," it’s in the knowing.
To be loved is to be seen — truly seen — not just the version of you that others choose to see, or the version you choose to show. It’s being seen in the places you hide, in the things you’re shy to admit, and in the parts of yourself that feel too complicated, too much, or too broken.
To be loved is to be understood when you can’t find the words, when words fail you.
When I think about this kind of love, I think about God. That kind of love truly and constantly humbles me the most.
A love that sees me exactly as I am.
Not the polished version, not the curated one.
But the messy, raw, sometimes fearful me.
And still, He says, "You are Mine."
I am His before I am anyone else's.
To be loved is to be known.
And to be known—truly known-is one of the most beautiful, terrifying, and comforting things.
Maybe that’s why love keeps chasing me even when I try to run from writing about it.
Because deep down, we are all longing for it, not just to be admired or desired,
but to be seen, understood, and embraced without condition.
I know finding this kind of love with someone you are romantically involved with is beautiful.
But what makes it even more beautiful is realising that you can also find it in your friendships — and even in your family.
I have found this kind of love with some of my friends and family.
And honestly, it’s one of the greatest gifts I didn’t even know I was praying for.
My birthday was just a few days ago, and it dawned on me how deeply I am loved, not because of the number of messages or calls, but because I felt seen and known.
It wasn’t about the grand gestures.
It was about how people remembered the small things and how their words carried weight because they knew the version of me that doesn’t always make it to the surface.
It was about not having to explain myself to be understood. I could be messy, joyful, quiet, complicated, and still be loved.
That realisation was so beautiful. It felt like a warm covering over my heart, a soft reminder that love doesn't always shout; sometimes, it simply stays.
Maybe that’s part of what it means to live fully to allow yourself to be seen,
to open yourself to the kind of love that doesn't rush to fix or change you,
but stays and says, "I see you. I know you. I love you."
And it also means learning to be that love for others, to see, know, and love, without condition, performance, or fear.
Because in the end, to be loved is to be known. And to be known—truly known-is one of the rarest, purest gifts we will ever hold.