"Will Anyone Ever Truly Love Me?"

I don’t know how many times I’ve asked myself this question — quietly, in the dark, when no one is around to hear me: “Will anyone ever truly love me?”

It’s not something I say out loud. I wear confidence like a jacket in public — people see me laughing, talking, maybe even thriving. But inside, in the silence of my soul, there’s a gnawing question that lingers. A question I’m both afraid to answer and desperate to resolve.

Because what if the answer is no?

I look around and see people holding hands, falling in love, being chosen. I wonder if that kind of love — the deep, unconditional kind — is something reserved for others. People better than me. People with less baggage. People more lovable. I start comparing, as if love is some sort of prize I’ve failed to earn.

I replay moments in my life: the ones where I opened my heart and felt it crack, the ones where I loved but wasn’t loved back, or worse, wasn’t even seen. There’s a loneliness that doesn’t go away just because I’m surrounded by people. It’s the kind that sits in my chest, cold and quiet.

But in the middle of that ache, I find myself opening the Bible — not because I’m expecting a miracle, but because I’m looking for a whisper. Something to remind me that I’m not invisible.

And I read:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

Everlasting love. Not temporary, not conditional, not based on my performance or personality. Just… love. From a God who knew everything about me before I knew myself and still chose to love me.

Then I read again:

“But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

This hits different. Because if I’m honest, I often feel like I have to be better to be loved. More put-together. Less messy. But God didn’t wait for me to clean myself up. He loved me right in the middle of the mess.

And then this:

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1)

Lavished. Not rationed. Not given in small amounts. Lavished. Poured out generously, freely, personally.

I won’t lie and say these verses erase all my doubts. I still long for that human kind of love — someone to hold my hand, to choose me in a crowd, to say, “You are enough, just as you are.” But what I’m learning is this: I’ve already been chosen. Already loved. Already seen.

The love I long for does exist. Maybe not yet in the form I imagined — maybe not in a relationship or a perfect love story. But it is real. And it started with the One who created me.

So I keep asking the question, but now with hope rather than despair: Will anyone ever truly love me?

And God whispers, “I already do.”