WHEN “UNCONDITIONAL” LOVE ACTUALLY HAD CONDITIONS

As someone who is going through faith deconstruction, there’s a unique kind of heartbreak that comes from a realization that many of the people I once believed loved me didn’t really love me. They loved who I was when I believed what they did. They loved the certainty, the sameness, the shared faith we had. They loved that I made them feel safe, affirmed, justified and filled with truth.

But when I started asking hard questions and my beliefs began to shift, I no longer fit neatly inside the theological box they had tucked me into and it became painfully clear that their love had conditions. And I had unknowingly broken the terms.

I’ve heard phrases like:

“I miss the old you.”
“I fear for your soul.”
“We’re just worried about you.”
“I’ll be praying that you come back to the truth.”

I’m sure they don’t realize how those words sound to me. They think they’re expressing care, but to me, it feels more like they’re drawing a line in the sand. They’re saying, We only knew how to love you when you agreed with us. And now that I don’t, I’ve become a problem to fix, a cautionary tale, or a source of pain in their lives. Many of these people I considered family are gone, and I do get where they are coming from (I would have done the same to someone ten years ago), but it still hurts.

I truly understand that many of them think their distance from me is love. They believe the way to love me now is to pull away until I see the light. But all I see is darkness. And all I feel is abandonment. One of my deepest fears since I was a child.

It’s heartbreaking.

Because I am still me.
Maybe more me than I’ve ever been.

I’m softer now. More empathetic. More open. I listen more, judge less. I carry my faith with open hands instead of clenched fists. I love more freely. I forgive more fully. I’m not trying to win anymore. I’m trying to heal. To grow. To live.

And yet, this more authentic version of myself is often met with silence, suspicion, or sadness from people I once called family. People I would have gone to battle for. People I did go to battle for.

That’s the part that hurts the most. Not the loss of agreement, but the loss of connection. The fading of relationships that I thought were built on love but turned out to be built on alignment.

And I can’t help but wonder: what kind of love disappears when you stop believing the same things? What kind of love goes away the moment you find your voice?

I’m grieving. Not just the loss of friendships or community, but the loss of the illusion of unconditional love I thought I’d found.

But even in the grief, I’ve found something so important and beautiful:

I’ve found myself.

And I’ve found a new kind of love. This is a love that doesn’t flinch at doubt, that welcomes change, that embraces complexity and curiosity. A love that says, Come as you are. Even if you’re still trying to figure out who that is.

That’s the kind of love I want to give and receive moving forward.

Not love that requires agreement to survive. But love that endures because it sees the person, not the belief system.

If you’re hurting in this same way, I see you. You’re not alone. This is hard, soul-deep work. But I believe we’re being drawn toward something more real, more beautiful, more honest than anything we may have left behind.

Keep going. Keep becoming. The ones who truly love you, the ones who can hold space for the real you, are already making their way toward you. Some never let you go, and those are ones to cherish! You’re worth that kind of love.

Unconditionally.