Loving Without Losing Yourself

There’s a passage in Scripture that’s both deeply challenging and quietly liberating:
“Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you…” (Luke 6:27).
And elsewhere:
“… for each one should carry their own load.” (Galatians 6:5)

I’ve been wrestling with what it means to love someone well—especially when that love once ran deep but was also deeply tested.

Years ago, I was in a long-term relationship that ended painfully. We had shared history, shared hopes, and a shared sense of what might have been. And when that ended, I believed I had put that chapter behind me.

Then came the call.

A stranger dialed from her number, asking me to come. What I walked into was chaos—legal drama, police involvement, and fear. The man then in her life had become a threat, and she needed help. Suddenly, I was in the middle of her crisis, without warning.

And here’s the truth: I didn’t hesitate.

Not because I wanted to reignite something romantic, but because compassion wouldn’t let me ignore someone in need. Still, even as I helped, I could feel a familiar pull—the old role trying to wrap itself around me again: protector, fixer, rescuer.

But I’ve learned this:
You can love someone and still refuse to carry what isn’t yours anymore.

Boundaries are not a lack of love. They’re the framework that keeps love from becoming resentment.

She needs help—and she deserves it. But she also needs structure, accountability, and support that doesn’t come from one person’s presence or history. I’ve realized that helping from a place of compassion is good. But being pulled back into dysfunction is not.

So I’ve set limits. I’ve made clear what I can and cannot do. And I’ve reminded myself of something freeing:
Christ alone is Savior—not me.

To anyone who finds themselves caring for someone they once loved—or still love—but who also hurt them or pulled them into unhealthy places:
You are not selfish for protecting your peace. You are being wise.

God’s love is unending, but His boundaries are clear. Jesus walked away from crowds. He didn’t chase every need. He prayed, helped, and healed—but He never let others define His mission.

And neither should we.

Closing Prayer

Lord,
Thank You for the love that never fails, never manipulates, and never binds us in chains of guilt.
Teach me how to love with wisdom—compassionate, yet courageous; open-hearted, yet protected.
Help me to recognize when my helping becomes enabling, and when my presence replaces what should be Yours alone.

Give me peace in setting healthy boundaries.
Give me strength to say “no” without shame, and “yes” without fear.
And above all, help me to remember that I am not the savior—You are.
You are the healer, the restorer, the refuge for every soul—including mine.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.