In the past weeks, we explored difficult but necessary truths about love:
loving also means accepting suffering,
loving also means preparing for loss,
and
This fourth reflection continues that path — not by asking us to give more, but by questioning how we give, and from where.
Fourth Reflection on Love
Another reflection on love: to love is also to take care of yourself in a relationship — for the other.
This idea came to me through a reflection by Jim Rohn, entrepreneur, author, and speaker. He once said:
“The greatest gift you can give somebody is your own personal development.
I used to use the old phrase, ‘I’ll take care of you, you take care of me.’
I found out how short-ended that was.
I changed it, here it is:
‘I will take care of me for you, if you will take care of you for me.’”
Jim Rohn was speaking about personal development.
But his words seemed to point to something else.
Something more intimate.
They unsettled a long-held idea I had about self-sacrifice in relationships.
Maybe taking care of yourself is not just a principle of love —
maybe it is something deeper, more vital.
An invisible foundation: our balance, our breathing, what we call self.
And yet, in some relationships, this priority slowly evaporates.
We begin to live for the other.
To fade.
To forget ourselves.
Quietly. Almost without noticing.
In relationships — whether family, friendship, or romantic — some people give themselves entirely. It is often seen as noble. Maybe it is. There is something beautiful in that gesture… but sometimes, there is also something that gets lost.
We often believe — without really admitting it — that by taking care of the other, care will naturally return to us. As if by default. But that return does not always come. And when it is delayed, or never arrives, the imbalance becomes heavy to carry.
Taking care of yourself is not selfishness.
It is not refusing to see the other.
It may simply be recognizing that we give best from a stable place. That to extend a hand, we need solid ground beneath our feet. We give well only from what we have built within ourselves.
A person who has grown, learned, strengthened themselves internally does not necessarily give more — they give differently. With more clarity. More steadiness. More presence. These are not fixed traits; they are states we try to inhabit, day after day.
As for me, something shifted. Not a rupture, but a quiet movement. Since this idea settled in me, I have given more space to what nourishes me — not to turn away from the other, but to avoid losing myself along the way.
It must also be acknowledged that investing primarily in the other can be dangerous.
I remember a story that marked my adolescence. I was around eighteen. In my neighborhood lived a young man respected by everyone. Hardworking. Polite. Discreet. He was in a relationship with a young woman who dreamed of becoming a doctor. She did not have the financial means or family support to pursue her studies.
Out of love, the young man abandoned his own. He went into business, worked tirelessly for years, and paid for all the expenses related to his partner’s education, including her graduation.
On the day of the ceremony — when he should have been recognized as a pillar of her success — she arrived with her new partner, also a doctor. She declared that the man who had sacrificed everything for her meant nothing to her anymore. That he had become inferior and unworthy of her.
That story stayed with me. For a long time. I don’t know if it was the injustice that struck me, or something else. He was not part of my family. But what he lived left behind a warning — an image difficult to forget. My father, too, used it. Not as a lesson hammered in, but as one of those stories that linger, that you hear in silence, and that eventually settle on their own.
Something crystallized there — in the meeting between that story and Jim Rohn’s words:
maybe loving does not mean erasing yourself.
To love may be to build yourself in order to build with the other.
Maybe investing in yourself is not a detour from the bond, but a way to make it more solid, more balanced, more just.
I have heard women’s stories too. Some sacrificed themselves to support a man’s studies or career, only to later be betrayed or rejected, deemed inferior to his new status.
Perhaps our ways of loving are less universal than we like to believe.
I have also listened to men and women who, on the contrary, honored those who sacrificed for them — who never considered them inferior or unworthy, but lifted them up and defended them proudly before society.
Yet in cases of betrayal, society often condemns one and pities the other. And paradoxically, it is that same society that once found it noble — even romantic — for one partner to completely sacrifice for the other.
I do not condemn. The world already does that well enough.
I prefer to question. To observe without pointing. To reflect — and in doing so, to make room for a personal understanding.
And in these reflections, I sometimes wonder whether the pain born from sacrifice is not amplified by what we allowed to happen.
This does not justify the other’s actions. Betrayal remains despicable. But it may also reveal an initial imbalance within the relationship.
I believe a couple should grow together, invest together — or that each person should first invest in themselves.
To place all your energy, your future, your potential into a single person — in the name of love — is a powerful gesture. But it is also a bet. A bet that the other will respond in kind.
And bets, by nature, offer no guarantees.
People change.
They evolve.
Their values change too.
And in today’s world, everyone is free to do as they choose. Morally, some behaviors may be questionable. But socially or legally, no one is obligated to stay, to love, or to recognize your sacrifice simply because you invested everything in them.
There is no legal contract that forces someone to remain, to love, or to acknowledge your sacrifice. These expectations are built on values — love, gratitude — but they are never guaranteed.
What I defend is not a model.
It is a direction: simple happiness.
I believe no one should remain in a relationship out of mere obligation. It would be a double punishment — for both people. Without sincere love and genuine recognition, sacrifice leads only to deep disappointment.
In the case of the young man I mentioned earlier, I cannot say what the right choice would have been. But seeing him made one thing clear to me: some sacrifices, even those made with love, can cost too much.
And perhaps that is why it is essential to remember this:
to love is also to be ready to lose the other.
Some people will stay with you only as long as you are useful to them. That is their vision of love. And as harsh as it may be, we cannot judge them for what they are free to want.
That is precisely why it is essential to remember that love also implies being ready to let go the other.
Because the fear of losing someone can push us to betray our own values. To erase ourselves. To give everything, until exhaustion. And sometimes, despite all these efforts, the relationship ends — and the suffering is immense.
We were taught to invest in the other.
To prove.
To give.
To support.
And we were led to believe that this would be enough for the other to do the same.
But it is not always the case.
In some cultures, in some places, it is even considered a moral duty: once you enter a relationship, you owe yourself to the other — sometimes even before living together.
But is that truly fair?
Is it truly healthy?
I believe it is entirely natural, when in a relationship, to help, support, and assist the other as much as we can. But this must remain a choice, not an obligation — and it must be done without losing oneself, without self-sacrifice.
I do not have to pay the rent of a partner I do not yet live with. Her expenses are not fully my responsibility. And yet, I may choose to help — not because I must, but because I want to.
When we love someone, we cannot bear to see them suffer. We want them fulfilled, at peace, happy. But often, some people exploit this feeling. They may use our love to manipulate us.
They’d say:
“If you really love me, you should do this for me.
You should pay for that.
You should take me here…”
And sometimes, we fall into the trap.
There is a painful irony here.
Perhaps even a contradiction.
Imagine giving everything to someone. Sacrificing yourself completely to help them grow, to succeed. And once they reach the top, they leave you behind. You are no longer seen as their equal.
You ask for explanations. You say:
“After everything I’ve done for you… all the sacrifices… this is how you’re going to repay me?”
And they look you in the eyes and reply:
“I never asked you for anything.”
Those words hurt in a way betrayal alone cannot. Because often, the same people once made you believe that your presence already placed you in their debt. And once they get what they want, they claim they never demanded anything.
Isn’t that strange?
Or rather… deeply paradoxical?
For me, loving in a relationship is like the small gestures we make toward ourselves for the sake of the other.
Take a simple example: taking a shower.
After a long day of work, we may be exhausted, with no desire to do anything. If no one were home, we might go straight to bed without a second thought. But because the other is there, we make the effort to wash — to remove the sweat, the odors, the fatigue. Not out of obligation, but out of care.
The same applies to how we dress, how we style our hair, how we choose a fragrance. We do not do these things to the other. We do them to ourselves — for the other.
We do not dress them, and yet every detail of us seeks to honor their presence.
Could we apply this same principle to other areas of life?
We could invest in our education, our personal growth, increase our income, expand our network, learn new skills, refine our talents. And with each personal step forward, the relationship grows richer.
And with each step, a little more to offer.
More listening.
More presence.
Perhaps even… more light.
That is why I believe it is not only important, but vital, to invest in yourself first. Not to turn away from the other, but to better support them, better cherish them, better love them.
And as Jim Rohn said so well:
“The best contribution I can make to you is my personal development.
What if I become ten times wiser, ten times stronger, ten times better, ten times more unique…
Think of what that would do for the relationship.”
So take care of yourself — for the other.
So that you may have the capacity to be more present.
🪞 Mirror for Reflection
Ask yourself, gently — without trying to fix anything:
In my way of loving, am I building myself…
or am I slowly disappearing to keep the other close?
And if I began to care for myself with the same intention I give to the other,
what would change — in me, and in the relationship?
🤍 If this reflection resonates, you’re welcome to walk alongside this series, becoming a subscriber to receive new reflections weekly —
each one offering a different mirror on love as it is lived, not idealized.
On Monday, The Evening Mirror will follow —
a quieter space to sit with this reflection a little longer.
With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.
I keep thinking about the shower example. It’s so ordinary, but it’s exactly how love shows up for me, too. Not a big speech, just a small choice to stay human and present, even when you’re tired.
This cuts through because it rejects the romance of self-erasure.
Love isn’t proven by sacrifice; it’s sustained by presence. Growth creates capacity. Disappearance creates dependency. And sacrifice, however noble, never obligates love, it only reveals imbalance when reciprocity fails.
The quiet truth here is unsettling: caring for yourself is not a withdrawal from love but a condition for it. You don’t arrive diminished to be worthy, you arrive whole. And perhaps loving also means being ready to lose the other, so that love remains a choice, not a fear-driven bargain.
The question lingers:
am I growing in love or slowly vanishing?