Can You Hold Yourself the Way You Expect Others To?

Learning to release expectation without closing your heart.

This piece will be vulnerable. Because I have to admit something I rarely say out loud. I expect people to show up in a certain way. And when they don’t… I shut them down. Clean. Quiet. Controlled.

But where is the love in that?

Tell me honestly, have you ever done the same?

Expected someone to care the way you care… to respond the way you would… to choose you the way you would choose them? And when they didn’t, something inside you hardened?

I’m writing this from the island where my biological mother lives. I thought being here would soothe the ache in my chest. That somehow proximity to my origin would heal the quiet loneliness I carry. It didn’t.

Last night I went down a dark rabbit hole reading about Jeffrey Epstein. The cruelty. The horror. The reality that humans can wound each other so deeply.

My heart felt heavy, not only for the world, but for myself. Is there really evil? Yes. There is. And yet… there is also beauty.

This morning, before rising from bed, I softened my entire body. I stretched across the mattress, heart open, legs extended, skin meeting cool sheets. I exhaled slowly and whispered: I will surrender.

And from somewhere deeper, quieter, a response arose: I will accept.

Then I stood up. My silk blue robe slid across my skin. I walked toward the balcony. The sunrise aligned directly with my eyes. The church bell rang, steady, gentle. Roosters crowed. Birds paint the sky with their songs. It was exquisite. A real-life sound bath.

And yet, my mind whispered who was missing. The ache surged. Why can’t I just enjoy this moment? Why does the absence try to steal the presence?

Here is what I realized. The pain is not always rejection. Often, it is disappointment of expectation. I expected people to meet me in the ways I would meet them. I expected love to mirror my language. I expected depth where there was capacity only for surface. And when they could not give it, I told myself they didn’t care. But is that true? Or were they simply being who they are?

At nineteen, I was loved at my worst. My first love pursued me. Believed in me. Supported my growth even when I doubted myself. He gave me the memory of what it feels like to be loved simply for being.

And now I ask myself. Have I given that same permission to others? Or do I love conditionally, even subtly? The deeper truth? I expect others to hold me in ways I have not fully learned to hold myself.

There are always two sides of the coin. Beauty and ache. Sunrise and absence. Gratitude and longing. The work is not eliminating one side. It is learning to hold both.

I am beginning to see that maturity in love is not: “Find someone who never disappoints you.”

It is: “Can you remain open even when reality does not match your expectation?”

Right now I am in a quiet coffee shop. Just me and one man sitting two tables behind me. It’s Sunday. The island is slow. I’m starting to fall in love with the simplicity. In eighteen minutes, I can drive to the vast ocean. No traffic. No noise.

There is so much beauty here. And still, there is ache. Maybe it isn’t about removing the ache. Maybe it is about amplifying the beauty while allowing the ache to sit beside it.

Can you hold all of you, instead of waiting for someone else to?

Pause for a moment. Look around you. Let your eyes search, intentionally for one beautiful thing in your immediate space. Let gratitude rise in your chest.

Now ask yourself:

• What am I repeatedly tolerating?
• What am I expecting others to give that I am withholding from myself?
• Who am I being when no one is meeting me?

Today, I will ask my heart where it desires to spend the day. What would nourish it fully. Because perhaps our real work is not chasing love. It is becoming the one who can hold oneself, without shrinking, without hardening, without closing.

Imagine who you become, when you prioritize nourishing your own heart. Not occasionally. Fully.

If this stirred something in you, it means you are ready for a deeper integration, not just intellectual understanding, but embodiment.

With depth,

Joanne Genoza

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