You’ll Understand Love When You Lose It
- Tariq Khan
- Oct 29, 2025
- 3 min read
Blog Post #095
“Most people talk about love, but few have met it.”
Where Love Begins
How do we know we’re in love — with someone, or even with life itself?
Why can love lift us to the highest joy, or drag us into manipulation and pain?
Does love have a real meaning, or do we just create one to survive?
The first love we ever know comes from our parents.
A hug, a warm voice, a simple “How was your day?” — these are the roots.
They show us what love looks like before we even know the word.
When I was a child, I didn’t always feel that love. Maybe it was there and I couldn’t see it, or maybe I was too curious — too wild — for my parents to understand.
Like many parents, they feared the world for me.
Their love was real, but I couldn’t recognize it.
It took me years — decades — to understand what love truly means, and how much misunderstanding hides behind that word.
What Love Is (and Isn’t)
Love is not sex.
Love is not manipulation.
Love is not motivation or control.
Real love gives without expecting.
It’s the quiet joy of doing something for someone simply because it makes them smile.
It’s when the heart leads and the ego disappears.
When I became a father, I met real love for the first time.
The day my daughter was born, my definition of love collapsed.
I wasn’t expecting anything — I just held her, and everything changed.
Before that moment, I thought love was something between adults — a passion, a promise, a movie.
But when I saw her, I realized: this is love without transaction.
No words, no reason — just pure connection.
In my culture, people rarely talk about the difference between love and desire.
We learn about “love” from the streets, from movies, from pain.
But real love isn’t spoken — it’s felt.
A mother feels her child’s pain before the child says a word.
That’s love — when understanding exists before explanation.
Why We Love
We love because we come from love.
Love is the essence of creation — the meaning of God.
A soldier dies in the name of love for his country.
A mother gives her life to bring a child into the world.
A father crosses oceans for his family.
Everything we build, everything we destroy, begins and ends in love.
Without it, nothing exists.
I understood this deeply when I was separated from my children.
Love feels easy when it’s near, but its real meaning shows itself in distance and loss.
When you can’t touch the ones you love, and you still love them — that’s real.
Every love has two sides: joy and pain.
When you fear losing someone, that fear itself is love.
I spent ten years with a narcissistic partner, enduring pain only to protect the love I had for my children.
It wasn’t weakness — it was sacrifice.
Over time, I realized I could love my children more clearly from a distance than I could in chaos.
Sometimes distance purifies love.
It takes away the noise and leaves only truth.
Is Everything Love?
I believe it is.
Every creation, every invention, every piece of art — all born from love.
A designer, an engineer, a musician — each acts out of love for the idea, the process, or the people who will receive it.
Even money, in its pure form, is an energy of love — it’s what we use to give, to build, to care, to connect.
Look around: the phone in your hand, the car you drive — all exist because someone once loved the idea of making them real.
Love is not just an emotion.
It’s the invisible fabric that holds everything together.
Questions for You
What do you love?
What idea wakes you up in the morning?
Have you ever loved something or someone so much that it made you cry — not from loss, but from gratitude?
Do you love with your ego, or with your soul?
Because love is your birthright. You come from love.
And you can create as much of it as you wish.
If it demands nothing and still stays — it’s love.
Key Takeaways
Love is your origin and your purpose.
It’s not desire, control, or gain — it’s presence.
You understand love not by holding it, but by losing it and still caring.
The more you give love, the more it expands.
Tariq Khan
Writer. Father. Student of Life.
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