Love Isn’t So Scary After All... But These Sassy Men Are
Open Heart Hours: Sneaky Sunday Thoughts
The Miami Big 3 of Disappointments
There’s something about Sunday nights.
No matter how productive, restful, or even chaotic the day has been, the hours between 7 and 10 PM seem to open a portal into my mind, inviting the kinds of thoughts I’ve spent all week avoiding.
Tonight, Majid Jordan is softly playing in the background, and my heart pushes my mind to ask a question I’ve dodged for years:
Why are you so scared of love?
Even typing those words feels like a punch to the gut.
My chest tightens, my fingers hesitate over the keys, and tears threaten to fall (okay, i’m being a bit dramatic here but you get it)
Love, specifically romantic love, has always been an area of my life marked by a giant question mark. No serious relationships. A string of situationships that ended in ghosting, blocking, or blindsiding—all of them leaving me feeling like I was the punchline to a cosmic joke (who had my voodoo doll? pls return to sender.)
I call them the "Miami Big 3 of Disappointments"—a trifecta of heartbreaks that happened back-to-back-to-back in a single year.
One ghosted me without a word.
Another told me he was going on a trip and never came back
And the last disappeared mid-conversation and brushed me off with a “Wasn’t my silence enough of an answer?”
These experiences didn’t just hurt—they left a part of my heart stuck in that time.
Still Bruised and Confused?
When I reflect on the patterns I’ve been working to heal, I often imagine myself traveling back to those moments, like a time-traveler visiting a younger version of me.
I replay the scenes with fresh eyes, offering her the compassion and understanding she never received, and gently pulling her back to the present. It’s a process that has helped me in many areas of life, but this part of me—this version who still feels abandoned and afraid of love—remains harder to reach.
I’m not scared of revisiting those wounds; I’ve confronted the pain, the anger, and the disappointment. But even now, a part of me wonders why those experiences still hold so much power over me.
Why, after all this work, am I still afraid of love coming into my life?
To be honest, I feel clueless about love…
A Man-Eater with Poor Taste…smh.
Growing up, I wasn’t the girl who got confessed to or pursued. I wasn’t the person people gravitated toward in social settings. Sure, there were occasional stares or compliments, but I didn’t really get it.
And when I don’t understand something, my instinct is to figure it out on my own.
I put myself out there, shot my shot, and approached love with a “target acquired” mindset.
But, GIRL, my aim was bad—like "Mayday, Mayday" bad. I chased after shiny toys, projecting onto them the qualities I thought I lacked (a real smack cam moment)
There was the PhD guy who mirrored my love for psychology, the golden boy who was so confident and polished he looked like he belonged in Seventeen Magazine, and the guy whose humor had me laughing so hard I forgot he wasn’t even that funny…(seriously, witchcraft).
I built pedestals for these men out of my self-worth, respect, and dignity. And when they inevitably fell, the crashes were seismic.
These weren’t just heartbreaks—they were lessons in how much of myself I was willing to give away without reciprocity. Even worse, their exits were cold and abrupt, leaving me with no closure.
For so long, I thought closure was something they owed me. I desperately waited for that final conversation, that moment of mutual understanding to “officially” move on.
But what I’ve learned is that closure isn’t something you get from others—it’s something you give to yourself (heavy sigh).
Holding Space for this.
Admittedly, I haven’t always handled endings with grace either.
There were times when I cut people off abruptly because I needed space to process my emotions. And here’s the thing: now, I can somewhat empathize with these guys (okay, don’t get me wrong—I’m not letting them off the hook)
I understand how overwhelming emotions and vulnerability can be when you don’t have the tools to hold space for them. I’ve been on the other side and know how tempting it is to take the easier, messier route.
But I also know this: relationships, romantic or not, come with inherent risks. Trusting again means accepting the possibility of both joy and heartbreak. It’s messy, but it’s real, and it’s the only way to build meaningful connections.
And I’m slowly learning to play the game with open eyes and an open heart.
Spiraling Together = Love Language
Heartbreak after heartbreak, my inner world became my sanctuary—a carefully constructed cave where I retreat to find solace, strength, and grace.
It’s taken years to build this space, and I’ve grown to love it. But the thought of letting someone else into this world? Terrifying.
What if I spiral? What if I’m triggered and don’t know how to react? What if my quirks, tears, or outbursts don’t land well with someone who doesn’t fully understand me yet?
For the longest time, one rejection or setback felt like it could send me into a downward spiral.
But slowly, I’ve started letting people into my process. Sharing parts of myself I once kept hidden—crying over heartbreak one moment and laughing at a TikTok the next—has been unexpectedly freeing.
I’m learning to embrace and accept the messy, confused, unsure Manny—the parts of me I once kept tucked away but am finally ready to let be seen.
Letting others witness this version of me has shown me that being truly known isn’t as scary as I thought.
In fact, it’s liberating.
She Don’t Wanna Be Saved
As I sit here on this Sunday night, I realize—I’m no longer waiting for someone to save me.
For so long, I thought love was about how I acted, how I showed up, or how I was perceived—like I needed to be “perfect” to be worthy of it. I believed someone else’s love could rescue me from my doubts and insecurities.
But after countless nights spent alone, I’ve watched my own strength, grace, and power rise up time and time again. And honestly, how could I not love that person? How could I not accept her fully, flaws and all?
I saved me.
What I want now isn’t someone to swoop in and fix me but a partner who loves me exactly as I am. A love that feels like freedom—like uncaging a bird so it can fly higher, explore deeper, and experience life fully. I imagine a connection where we soar together, charting a life of adventure, curiosity, and boundless exploration—not because we complete each other, but because we amplify each other.
I know I’ll find that lucky guy who sees me, who loves me, inside and out, for all that I am. And when that happens, it won’t be about saving or being saved. It’ll be about choosing freedom and building a limitless, bold life together.
But these sassy men?
That’s a challenge for another Sunday night. 🌙
‘til next time,
Minhaj