Whole Time, I'm the Love of My Life

"Whole time, I'm the love of my life."

It's only seven words, yet I've reread it countless times, and each time it seems to reveal something new.

It doesn't tell me to chase another goal or become a different version of myself. Instead, it quietly invites me to consider a possibility I don't think I was ever taught.

What if I am the love of my life?

Not in a self-centered way. Not in a way that dismisses the hope of one day sharing my life with someone else. Rather, in a way that changes how I care for the one person who has been with me through every single chapter of my life.

I've spent so much of my life believing love was something that would eventually arrive. Someone would choose me, understand me, and care for me in all the ways I secretly longed to be cared for. Yet when I look back, I realize something I had never stopped to notice. Through grief, heartbreak, uncertainty, depression, rebuilding, and every season of simply surviving, one person has remained.

Me.

The whole time, I've been here.

Maybe that's why this quote feels so personal. It shifts love from something I'm waiting to receive into something I choose to practice. It asks me a question that has lingered in my heart: What if I actually lived as though I believed this? What if "Whole time, I'm the love of my life" wasn't simply a quote tucked inside my journal, but a way of living that shaped the decisions of my days?

If I truly believed I was the love of my life, I don't think my life would necessarily look extravagant. I think it would look intentional. I wouldn't skip meals because I was busy. I wouldn't constantly speak to myself with criticism after a difficult day. I wouldn't wait until I was exhausted before deciding I deserved rest, and I wouldn't continue pouring into everyone else while convincing myself that my own needs could wait.

Instead, I would care for myself.

Actually, I think the better word is tend.

You don't fix a garden; you tend to it. You water it, pull weeds, prune what is no longer healthy, and make sure it receives enough light. You understand that growth takes time, and you don't become frustrated because a flower isn't blooming as quickly as you hoped. You simply keep showing up, trusting that your care matters long before you see the results.

What if my life became a garden I was entrusted to tend?

I don't think self-stewardship was ever something I learned. I learned responsibility. I learned how to be dependable, productive, and how to care for other people. I learned how to keep going when life was hard. But no one ever taught me that stewardship also meant faithfully caring for the person God entrusted to me.

Me.

Maybe that's why my word for August is Care.

The more I sit with it, the more I realize care is much bigger than a checklist. Yes, it includes taking my vitamins because my body deserves nourishment. It includes going on my walks, stretching afterward, making doctor's appointments (including the ones I've been avoiding), budgeting wisely, cleaning my apartment, spending time with God, setting healthy boundaries, and getting enough sleep. But those things are no longer tasks to complete. They've become expressions of something much deeper.

Each one quietly says, "You matter."

I think that's the difference between self-care and self-stewardship. Self-care often asks, What feels good today? Self-stewardship asks, What does the woman I'm becoming need from me today? Some days she'll need movement. Other days she'll need rest. Sometimes she'll need prayer, forgiveness, or silence. Sometimes she'll simply need someone to stay with her through a difficult moment.

Maybe that's what this quote is teaching me. I don't need to spend my life proving that I'm worthy of care. I have always been worthy of tending. Care is not something I earn once I've finally become enough. It is one of the ways I acknowledge that I have always mattered.

So perhaps every morning I only need to ask myself one question:

If I am the love of my life, how will I love her today?

I think it's a reminder for me to stop living as though I'm the last person I'll take care of.

The woman I'm becoming deserves to be nourished. She deserves to be protected, rested, spoken to with kindness, and faithfully tended to. Perhaps this has been the invitation all along.

Whole time, the love of my life...

She's been walking beside me. Whispering, "I've got you."