I was a shy, introverted five-year-old when a kindergarten friend invited me to her house for lunch.
I was excited. It felt grown-up and special. But when I got there, my little-girl mind was shocked to discover that everything in my friend’s house was different than mine. The food smelled strange. The furniture was different. The customs were unfamiliar. The family was Swedish, and the mother had made a special Swedish lunch, but my five-year-old mind couldn’t process any of that. All I knew was that everything felt alien and overwhelming, and I didn’t know what to do.
I panicked and ran home, crying. I arrived sobbing, needing comfort and reassurance, needing to be held and told it was okay.
Instead, I was met with fury.
My mother, normally a very level-headed person, was angry and disgusted with me for humiliating her by being such a poor guest. She did not understand how I could be so unable to handle a simple lunch.
I stood there, still sobbing, and learned one of the most devastating lessons a child can learn:
My need for love and comfort was disgusting. Being vulnerable was wrong. Needing support was shameful. Asking for help was a mistake.
When Love Is Denied
Here’s what happens when love is denied to us in our most vulnerable moments:
We don’t just feel the pain of that denial once. We internalize it. We make it a rule. We turn it into an identity.
“I asked for love and was met with anger. Therefore, I must never ask for love again. I showed my need and was punished. Therefore, I must never show need again. My vulnerability was disgusting. Therefore, I must never be vulnerable again.”
When we make those decisions, they become our identity, and we begin denying ourselves love because we learned that’s what we’re supposed to do. We learned that we are not worthy of love. We learned that our needs are burdens. We learned that comfort and support are for other people, not for us.
We learned to live in pain as if pain were our natural state.
Why It Goes Deeper For Empaths
For empaths and highly sensitive people, these lessons take root more deeply than in others. We feel everything more intensely. We absorb the emotional atmosphere around us. When love is denied, especially by the people who were supposed to love us unconditionally, it doesn’t just hurt; it becomes our truth about the world.
“Love is not safe.”
“Vulnerability leads to punishment.”
“My needs disgust people.”
These beliefs become so deeply ingrained in our subconscious mind that we rarely question them. We just… live by them. We give love freely to others. We’re generous. Compassionate. Endlessly supportive. But receiving? That feels impossible. Dangerous. Wrong. Because somewhere deep inside, a five-year-old is still standing there sobbing, having just learned that asking for love gets you fury instead.
The Beliefs We Carry
Maybe your story isn’t exactly like mine. Maybe your moment(s) of denied love looked different.
Maybe it was:
- A parent who was too overwhelmed to comfort you.
- A caregiver who called you “too sensitive” or “too needy.”
- Someone who loved you but couldn’t show it in ways you could feel.
- A thousand small moments of emotional unavailability that taught you not to ask.
Whatever the specifics, the lesson is the same:
When you need love, you won’t get it. So stop needing it.
And so we learned to give without receiving. To support without leaning. To love without being loved back. We thought we were being mature. Selfless. Good. But we were actually just… denying ourselves love.
When we reach adulthood, still carrying these wounds, it’s important to understand that:
This was taught. It is not who you are.
In my case, when the belief that I don’t deserve love, that my needs are disgusting, that vulnerability is dangerous took root in my 5-year-old subconscious mind, I did not have the capacity to understand they were lies taught by people who were themselves wounded, overwhelmed, or unable to love in the ways I needed.
The Real Truth
Beliefs that are taught can be untaught.
We have the power to denounce those old, toxic beliefs and adopt life-affirming ones:
- “I am worthy of love.”
- “My needs matter.”
- “Vulnerability is courage, not weakness.”
- “I can ask for comfort and support.”
- “Opening to receive love is my birthright.”
This doesn’t happen by forcing yourself to be vulnerable. First, you have to heal.
Remember that moment when love was denied. See it clearly. Understand what you learned. And gently, compassionately, tell your younger self: “Your need for love was normal and natural. The person who couldn’t meet your needs was struggling with their own wounds. This was never about your worth. This was about their limitations.”
And then you practice. Small steps. Letting someone help you with something simple. Accepting a compliment without deflecting. Saying “I need support” and allowing someone to show up for you.
You rebuild trust with yourself and the universe.
You develop discernment about who is safe. Who has earned access to your vulnerability. Who can meet you in the exchange of giving and receiving without punishing you for needing.
The Courage To Receive
Did you know that the word “courage” comes from the French word coeur, which means heart?
Courage means: guided by the heart.
It takes courage to open your heart again after it’s been denied. After it’s been punished for needing. After it’s learned that asking for love brings fury. But your heart knows something your wounded mind has forgotten:
You were made to be loved. To give love and to receive it. To need and be needed. To be vulnerable and be met with tenderness.
That five-year-old who ran home sobbing? She wasn’t wrong to need comfort. She wasn’t disgusting for being overwhelmed. She wasn’t a failure for asking for love. She was just a frightened child who needed love. And you, in your adulthood, deserve love too, regardless of the beliefs your wounds have taught you. You still deserve comfort. You still deserve to receive without shame.
When we choose to believe: “I am worthy of love. I am ready to receive. I am safe to be vulnerable, with the right people, at the right time, when my heart says yes,” we allow giving and receiving in the natural rhythm that was always meant to be ours.
You deserve this. You always have.
If you recognize yourself in this essay and would like a guide to help you along your journey to reclaiming your joy and freedom, I invite you to fill out my intake form.