What I Want My Sons to Know About Love

A letter to my sons on what I wish someone had told me about love — and what I need them to know.

Dear Sons,

I don’t want you to learn love the way I did —

through silence, through guessing, through shrinking yourself just to be enough.

I want you to know love like sunlight — gentle, steady, and real.

The kind that doesn’t leave you wondering.

The kind that feels like home, not a test.

Love isn’t something you have to prove.

It’s not about how you act, what you wear, or the brands you buy.

You don’t earn it by performing or pretending.

Real love sees you — and loves you as you are.

I remember when I thought I was in love for the first time.

I was young, and I liked her so much that every time we were about to meet, I’d get nervous — heart pounding, palms sweaty, overthinking everything.

A friend noticed and asked, “Why do you always get so nervous?”

And I said, “Because what if she doesn’t like me? What if she won’t talk to me? What if I get rejected?”

He looked at me and said something I’ve never forgotten:

“If you’re worried she won’t like you for who you are, then maybe she’s not worth your time.”

“Stop trying to be who you think she wants. If she really sees you — really loves you — she’ll love you for you.”

That advice changed something in me.

So here’s what I want you to know:

Be yourself.

Love yourself.

And if someone doesn’t see your worth — that’s okay.

There is someone out there who will.

And the day you stop performing for love is the day you start feeling peace.

Sometimes love will hurt.

Sometimes your heart will break.

But those breaks will teach you what real love isn’t —

and lead you closer to the kind that stays.

When you forget what love is supposed to feel like, remember this:

It shouldn’t make you anxious.

It shouldn’t make you feel like you need to change.

It should feel like being known and still chosen.

That’s the kind of love I want for you.

And the kind I’m learning, slowly, to give.

Always,

Dad