When Did We Make Love So Complicated?

What Living with Chronic Illness Taught Me About Love, Loss and Letting People Know They Matter

I’ve been thinking about something lately.

Actually… it all started because a video popped up on my social media feed. You know the kind. Someone confidently explaining everything you should never do if you want a successful relationship. Never text first. Never compliment someone. Never tell them you like them. Wait before replying. Make them wonder. Make them chase.

I think I made it about thirty seconds before I laughed and muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake… when did we make this so complicated?”

It wasn’t even the advice itself that stayed with me.

It was the question that came afterwards.

When did we become so afraid to let people know they matter? Not just in dating… in life.

My dad used to tell me, “You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Appreciate what you have. Appreciate your life. Appreciate your people. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.” When I was younger, I heard the words, but like so many things our parents tell us, I don’t think I truly understood them. As I’ve gotten older, and life has handed me experiences I never would have chosen, those words have settled into my heart in an entirely different way.

Living with a lifelong blood disorder has meant hospitals have been woven into my life for as long as I can remember. There have been transfusions, procedures, moments of uncertainty, moments of genuine fear, incredible healthcare professionals who became part of my story, and more reminders than I ever wanted that our bodies don’t always follow the plans we make for them. Alongside that, I’ve lost friends and family far younger than anyone should have, and I’ve watched ordinary days become life-changing days in the space of a single phone call.

Experiences like these don’t make you fearless. They make you aware.

They remind you that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. That people aren’t guaranteed. That opportunities to tell someone they mattered aren’t guaranteed either.

Maybe that’s why I struggle so much with the message that caring should somehow be hidden. We seem to live in a culture that encourages us to carefully measure our kindness, calculate our responses and hold back our appreciation in case someone thinks we care “too much.”

Now, before anyone misunderstands me, I’m not suggesting we throw healthy boundaries out the window. Quite the opposite. Healthy boundaries matter. Trust should be earned. Discernment matters. Healing matters. Relationships deserve time to grow.

But moving thoughtfully isn’t the same thing as pretending we don’t care.

Somewhere along the way, I wonder if we’ve started confusing healthy boundaries with emotional distance. We’ve become so focused on protecting ourselves from rejection that we’ve forgotten how to build genuine connection.

Maybe it sounds a little old-fashioned, but I still believe in treating people the way I’d hope to be treated.

If someone crosses my mind, I’d like them to know.

If I appreciate someone, I’d rather tell them than assume they somehow already know.

If a friend is having a difficult week, I’d rather reach out than spend three days wondering whether they’ll think I’m being “too much.”

Not because I’m trying to earn love.

Not because I’m trying to manipulate an outcome.

Simply because appreciation deserves to be spoken.

After everything life has shown me, I’ve never once heard someone say they wished they’d appreciated people less. I’ve heard regret about the conversations that never happened, the words that stayed unsaid, the phone call that was put off until tomorrow, and the assumption that there would always be another chance. Those are the things that stay with people.

When I think about the people who’ve had the greatest impact on my own life, it wasn’t because they mastered emotional strategy or followed the latest relationship advice. They remembered the little things. They reached out. They sat beside me in hospital rooms. They celebrated my victories, held space during my grief and reminded me that I wasn’t carrying everything alone. None of those moments were extraordinary because they were perfectly timed. They were extraordinary because they were genuine.

That’s the kind of person I hope I continue becoming.

Not someone who measures kindness or calculates vulnerability, but someone who lets the people in my life know they matter.

Will everyone respond the way I hope?

Of course not.

Will everyone reciprocate?

No.

That’s part of being human.

Authenticity has never guaranteed that our hearts won’t be broken. It simply means we’re choosing to live in alignment with our values instead of allowing fear to decide how we show up in our relationships.

Maybe this isn’t really a conversation about dating at all.

Maybe it’s a conversation about remembering what it means to be human.

My dad’s words come back to me more often these days than they ever did when I was younger.

“You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Appreciate what you have. Appreciate your life. Appreciate your people. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.”

The older I get, the more I realize he wasn’t talking about possessions.

He was talking about people.

He was talking about making sure the people we love don’t have to wonder if they were loved. About appreciating what we have while we still have it. About not letting fear, pride or overthinking rob us of moments we’ll never get back.

Life has already taught me enough about how quickly everything can change. It doesn’t need to keep convincing me that time is precious.

So maybe I’ll keep reaching out when someone crosses my mind. Maybe I’ll keep telling people I appreciate them. Maybe I’ll keep believing that kindness isn’t something to be rationed, but something to be shared.

Maybe that makes me old-fashioned.

If it does…

I’m okay with that.

Because after everything I’ve lived through, I’d much rather risk caring too much than spend the rest of my life wondering whether the people I loved ever truly knew it.

I’d rather say what I mean…

and mean what I say.

Thank you for taking a few minutes to spend with me today. If this reflection resonated with you, I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts. Has life changed the way you show up for the people you love? Has it made you more guarded, or has it reminded you to love a little more openly?

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m simply sharing what life has been teaching me, one experience at a time. My hope is that, somewhere in these words, you found a piece of your own story too.

Until next time… take care of yourself, appreciate your people, and don’t leave the important words unsaid.

with Love and Blessings

Nancy

A little afterthought…

As I sat with this after publishing, I realized I wanted to add one more thing. Kindness should never come at the expense of your self-respect, your safety or your peace. Healthy boundaries and genuine connection can absolutely exist together. This reflection simply comes from a lifetime of learning that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, and that the people we love deserve to know they matter while they’re here to hear it.