Yes, Fairytale Love Does Exist: On Navigating Healthy Love without F***'ng It Up
An argument for the sublime and a love letter to my person.
I’m convinced fairy tale love exists. That’s right, I said it. In our “enlightened” culture where we like to be ever vigilant, ever practical, where articles galore feature headlines warning against the folly of fairytale love, I argue that it still exists.
I should know. I’m living it.
Let’s back up and define “fairytale.” I think there are two different definitions. The first is the negative definition of “fairy tale love,” a fantasy that people rightfully decry as ludicrous and idealized. And the second definition of “fairy tale love” is the true kind, a love that demands work, authenticity, and vulnerability, a love that is freeing and nourishing in a way I never believed could exist.
I grew up on all those “love” maxims.
You know the ones: love takes work! Love takes compromise! Be a good communicator! Split everything 50/50! But my understanding of those extorted tenants was so wrong. I used to think, “love takes work,” meant “sacrifice everything on the altar of your love to prove to your person that you’re good enough to be loved!” Or, my favorite, raised as a good, conservative, evangelical Christian girl: “die to yourself!” We are meant to compromise; that’s what love is! Have a servant’s heart! I thought “unconditional love” meant, “love someone no matter how shitty they treat you!”
Goddamn, I cringe reading over that. How could my understanding of healthy love have been so…backwards? So unhealthy? So skewed towards a dynamic in which I was consistently placed on the back burner? It’s no wonder my idea of love looked more like an exercise in self-torture rather than two people in shared partnership.
It took getting into a healthy relationship to - ironically - see that those phrases aren’t wrong, but they are certainly twisted.
For example, yes, love is about compromise…but not so much compromise that only one person is doing all of it, or compromising so much that they are giving away parts of their identity, or sacrificing core dreams and values. Another example: love takes work - yes, that’s true. But not so much work that bitterness begins to build. Not so much work that both parties are miserable. Not so much work that love is eroded by resentment.
Or, “have a servant’s heart.” That one still rings true, but in a much more healthy, beautiful way. For instance: I am the one who does the majority of the cleaning. I love watching my partner’s face melt in genuine gratitude when he steps into a clean home after a long workday, or picks through his fresh, folded laundry. I love giving him back rubs after he’s spent the day digging trenches or wrestling with conduit. And guess what? I feel not a scrap of resentment; believe me, I’ve checked, searching in disbelief for something that was once ever-present.
Do you know how I used to interpret, “have a servant’s heart?” I used to think it meant, “do every single chore in the house. Overextend yourself in hopes that he’ll notice and give you a little pat on the head. Have a full time job. Do all the grocery shopping. Do all the meal planning. Do all the cooking. Do all the laundry. Then become angry and silently resentful when he doesn’t notice or thank you. Bottle those negative feelings up because they are “unbecoming.” Bottle them up until you explode. And remember, never, ever ask for help. Never ever acknowledge you can’t do it all because you are a strong and independent woman!”
Dear. God. Please excuse me while I vomit.
But guess what? For the first time in my life, there is no scorecard.
I don’t keep track of the things I’ve done and the things he hasn’t done, nor does he keep a similar record for me. I know I am playing to my strengths. I like to clean and I’m good at it. He doesn’t. On the other hand, though we both cook, he does far more cooking than me. He loves cooking and he’s amazing at it! Lucky me!
There are nights when we get home from a hard climbing session or a hike or even just an exhausting grocery run, and I’m simply too damn tired or can’t be fucked to prepare a meal. “Babe,” I’ll say with hesitancy, “is it okay if I just…go lay down and you make dinner?” And his face will light up: “Of course! Go lay down!” If I try to fumble through apologies, he holds a finger to his lips. “SHHH. SHH. Shut up. Go. Lay. Down! I’ve got you.”
I can admit I don’t want to do it all? And my partner is not just okay with it, but eager to serve me? He actually likes it? And he’s not keeping score!? A miracle! Praise be!
It turns out, having a servant’s heart goes both ways.
To me, all of this is a fairy tale love: something so beautiful and pure, sacred and precious, that surely it cannot be real and must exist only in childlike, girlish, fiction. I don’t want to dive too deeply here into my journey with religion and spirituality, but suffice to say that I always heard the phrase “unconditional love” tied to God and his love for us. It always felt like such an esoteric, untouchable concept: cool, God’s awesome. Cool, he loves us “no matter what.” But…what does that feel like? What does that look like? When I asked these questions, the answers were never satisfactory.
I certainly never discovered unconditional love within my previous relationship, which was deeply unhealthy, bordered on emotional abuse, and was fraught with tense power dynamics. I certainly never discovered unconditional love in my childhood, where I felt I had to perform to win love. No, I am absolutely not trying to toss my parents under the bus. I know they are humans doing their best, and I know some of that feeling of performing for love is my own shit projected onto them. At the same time, I’m honoring that younger me felt what I felt.
No matter the cause, I never felt safe enough to relax into whatever the hell unconditional love might look like. That is, until I fell deeply in love with my partner, and slowly, patiently, and despite all my resistance, he began to show me.
No, this doesn’t mean I can start a drug habit and expect he’ll still choose to love and stay with me. No, this doesn’t mean he can suddenly choose to pivot his lifestyle to living as a monk in Africa, completely contrary to the life I want to live. None of this is unconditional love. The true meaning of unconditional love is when I can be every ounce of my true self: vulnerable, messy, too much, and he loves it anyway. Actually, he loves me BECAUSE, not “ANYWAY.”
His love isn’t conditioned upon whether I’m having a crappy day and I’m not as perky and fun as I normally am. His love isn’t conditioned upon how successful I am in my career. His love isn’t conditioned upon me doing the dishes or cleaning, performing or being “the ideal woman.” Yes, there are certain parameters that must exist within healthy relationships between two adults. Things like this include compatible lifestyles, mutual respect, not being an abusive piece of shit.
But aside from those things, aside from that large “box,” there is so much space for ebb and flow. So much room to grow. Unconditional love flows freely within that space.
So let’s bring it back… why do people hate fairytale love?
I think when people shit on the idea of romantic fairytale love, what they’re actually cautioning against is the idea that a prince (or princess) charming will sweep in and make all your problems go away. That you can lose yourself and your identity in becoming someone else’s person.
I know, because I did that. Several times, actually. The most prominent example highlighting that glaring error was, of course, within my last relationship. There, I was made to feel that there was no room for differences. His opinions were the only ones that were true. His path was the only one to take. While I struggled to occasionally maintain individuality (especially where my intelligence and academic rigor was concerned - the cause of many an explosive fight), for the most part, I was content to take a backseat in my own life. His dreams were the only ones that mattered…and unlike the previously mentioned transgressions, this was not something he explicitly pushed on me. It was something I told myself until I began to believe it.
I believed it for so long, in fact, that I grew mistrustful of differences - even normal ones - within romantic relationships. I didn’t think there could possibly be a space for people to be themselves, yet come together with another: an entirely different human with entirely different experiences and various sets of beliefs.
I’ve never been this glad to be so mistaken.
I’ve learned that real love is a when both people can celebrate each other: the things that unite them, and yes, even their differences. Neither my partner nor I want the other to change. We adore each other exactly as we are, flaws and all.
Our love allows us both to flourish and grow. With him, I am better at slowing down, not always asking the ever-present annoying question, “so what’s the plan!?” I am better at being more optimistic, more fluid, rather than rigid and perfectionist. With me, he’s more grounded, more at ease with the present moment instead of chasing the next big thing. Without actually asking for it, we both inspire each other to be better versions of ourselves. We are both working towards goals and dreams that are separate from our relationship, and we can take satisfaction in that.
And because all of this is so wonderful, my brain immediately launches into sabotage mode.
My partner and I have this phrase: “Lizard brain has awoken!” Lizard brain, referring to the ‘reptile part of our brains,’ the ancient, primal part concerned with survival. It’s the deepest part of the nervous system focused only on fight or flight. But lately, we have been happy to report that “lizard brain has gone back to his heating rock. He’s chillin’ there.”
Another word for lizard brain might be self-sabotaging. Sometimes, I feel the echoes of my previous relationship and poor life choices; there’s a tangible tension in my chest that rattles off all the ways I could fuck up my relationship. My partner admits this temptation arises for him as well. We are aware they are nothing more than intrusive thoughts.
I know they’re nothing beyond mere thoughts, inconsequential as dust in the wind, but still, I think of all the ways I can fuck this up. My brain offers up incredibly vivid scenarios and helpful ideas, visions that reveal, in explicit detail, how I could tank our partnership. I could nag. I could yell. I could be hurtful. I could smother. I could run away. I could push him away. I could do All the Things. Then, I could be alone again. Then, I could be in control. Then, I could be safe. (As if I’m not already safe when wrapped in his embrace?)
I was thinking the other day how he is one of the few people to whom I can gingerly offer my heart on a platter. And he would give my heart tender love, warm blankets, probably some cocoa. He wouldn’t stab it. But that’s a risk we run in relationships, isn’t it? Every time we offer our heart - whether it be to romantic partners, friends, or family - we accept the risk that they might stab it. In offering my heart to him, I too am acknowledging the possibility that one day he might stab it. And I choose to love him anyway. I choose to be vulnerable anyway. It’s a deep and horrible risk of love and of life.
Nothing in life is guaranteed. I know that well, a hard lesson I’ve had to learn, purchased with the currency of my numerous mistakes. Just as with life, I know love isn’t guaranteed. Even if we stay together, we will eventually be separated by death. “Till death do us part and all that.”
And you know what? This love is worth it. Fairytale love is worth all of the risks, tenfold.
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a heightened fear that he might never come home. That he might get in a car crash or a catastrophic accident on the jobsite (the construction industry is no joke, ya’ll). Such is the price for studying death work and serving as a grief supporter - I learn about all the different ways people can be bereaved. Let me tell you, there are a lot of ways. Safety is quite the tricky illusion. And what is self-sabotage, what is lizard-brain, if not an attempt to keep us safe?
Nowadays, when lizard brain crawls off his ole’ heating rock, returning to the forefront of my mind, I acknowledge him and the intrusive thoughts. I sit a moment among the (horrifically uncomfortable) scenarios that my primal brain conjures, trying desperately to get me to seek the “safety” of ruining the relationship, of being alone, of being once again, in absolute control of my heart.
I acknowledge the thoughts, acknowledge their potency, their power, and their validity.
And then I let them go.
It’s okay, I say. I don’t need you. I don’t want you. I am safe. I am loved. I am so deeply fucking in love. And you are not needed.
I am so damn lucky to have this sweet love. I am so damn lucky to live inside a fairy tale. Not a fictitious, plastic scenario in which everything is effortless and perfect and fake. I don’t live in a place that requires me to “pretend” everything is okay, to live in “a land of make-believe” (been there, done that!) No, this is the opposite. This is reality. With him, I share a love that’s true, a love that sustains me, where I can allow myself to be carried, and where I have the profound privilege of carrying him too.
This is why I believe in fairy tale love. Because I’m living in one in the best of ways.
Hello, reader!! Thank you so, so much for being here. <3 If you particularly loved this edition of Full of Life, perhaps you’d consider buying me a quick coffee? Your support makes my heart melt, and lets me know you find my writing worthwhile. I rather like the one-time support option, as it feels more manageable than the monthly financial commitment of a paid subscription.
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Upcoming pieces to Full of Life:
What Climbing + Powerlifting Have Taught Me About Mindfulness - a cross post with
Spooky with Izel (Publish Date: August 21)
Hey Phoenix: What the hell is THE POINT?
Lyric Analysis: It’s So Comfortable to Be Miserable, But So Dangerous to be So F*** Full of Life
Coming up in the Trail Logs series…
We climb North and South Kinsman peaks, getting well underway into the deep and unforgiving terrain of the Whites. (Publish Date: August 14)
This is so beautiful and IMO the best-written piece I've read on your site so far.
For me, fairytale love means being the strongest team - through thick and thin, in sickness and in health.
I have it too ♥️
Loooove this! You’re giving me hope! Thank you 🤍