The Sacred Dance Between Love and Worth

Love. It’s beautiful, confounding, and layered—woven into every form of human connection. Not merely the romantic kind, but the bonds that shape our lives: friendship, partnership, siblinghood, mentorship. Love is the invisible thread that holds relationships together, the quiet force that says, You matter to me. And yet, for many of us, love is also the place where we lose ourselves while trying to find what we’ve never fully understood. I’ve come to believe—through lived experience—that there’s a powerful link between self-worth and love. When our sense of worth is underdeveloped or wounded, the love we accept often reflects that deficit. We settle. Not because love isn’t within reach, but because we measure our worth by other people’s ability to see it. We become mirrors, waiting for someone else’s gaze to remind us we deserve good things. Why do I say this? Because this isn’t just theory—it’s my story. When I began this blog, Unfolding Martha, it wasn’t merely to share polished thoughts or curated wisdom. It was born from a sacred yearning to unravel the layers of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. I am the last child of my mother—a woman whose life ended the moment mine began. I never knew her warmth, never felt her arms wrapped around me. Growing up, I wondered endlessly about the kind of love a mother gives: one not conditioned by your behavior or achievements but born from her very soul, because you came from her body. I know that kind of love exists because I’ve seen it in others—and I thank God that some of you still get to live it. In contrast, my father was emotionally unavailable. Not out of malice, I now believe, but likely because he hadn’t known any better. He offered what he could. It just wasn’t enough. The foundation of my self-worth was barely formed. For years, I carried a silent, unbearable burden: the belief that I caused my mother’s death. I never questioned it—it was just a weight I bore, invisible yet relentless. I used to wonder: Would she still be alive if I hadn’t been born? Did my siblings lose their mother because of me? These questions haunted me, surfacing in the quiet moments of pain and longing—especially when I yearned for her during life’s toughest storms. Things worsened when we were introduced to a stepmother. I won’t go into the details today—I’m not yet ready—but I will say this: I endured physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. And yet, somehow, I survived. Not intact, but alive. My self-worth, however, was shattered. So I looked for love in places that matched the fragments within me. The people I let in didn’t heal me—they mirrored my brokenness. Had I known my value then—had I been even a fraction of the woman I am now—they wouldn’t have had access to me. Because now… Now, I know how to walk away. Now, I honor my boundaries like sacred altars. Now, I surround myself with people of substance—those whom God and grace have sent to rewrite my narrative. What am I really trying to say? That love is never too much to ask for. But to truly receive love—not just the performative or transactional kind, but the deeply nurturing and authentic kind—we must first recognize that our value exists independently of anyone’s ability to validate it. You are worthy. You are whole. Even if the world hasn’t always told you so. Treat yourself with the love you seek from others. Speak to yourself with tenderness, protect your peace fiercely, and refuse to compromise your boundaries. When you do this, the love you’re yearning for will find you—because you’ve become a reflection of the very thing you desire. So if you’re searching, hoping, praying for love that feels like home… know this: You’re not asking for too much. You’re asking for what you deserve. And it’s out there, looking for you too.