When Love Is Not Enough: Choosing Growth Over Attachment

Karen Di Gloria
Jun 25
3 min read

Updated: Jul 13

About eight months ago, I was deep in mourning. My ex-husband—someone I remained close to for eight years after our divorce—died by suicide. His birthday is in less than a week, adding another layer to this tender time.

Addiction played a role in our separation. However, it was not just the addiction itself—it was the why behind it. The pain that was never addressed. The wounds that were never spoken. Even in moments of sobriety, the deeper healing never came.

The numbing may have stopped, but the inner work never began. Without that healing, the pain lingered—just beneath the surface.

Still, even after all the heartbreak, we kept a bond rooted in love and shared history.

Along the way, I had to face my own patterns—especially the subtle ways I enabled. Enabling does not always look like rescuing or fixing. Sometimes it looks like staying silent when something feels wrong. Or loving someone so much you start walking on eggshells just to keep the peace. Often, it is driven by our own fear of rejection—the fear that if we speak the truth, set a boundary, or ask for more, we will lose them.

Yet the truth is: enabling, even when born from love, never helps. And fear—especially fear of rejection—can quietly keep us trapped in relationships that do not allow our full selves to be seen or honored.

It is one thing to watch someone resist the inner work. It is another to lose them entirely. That pain . . . that loss . . . it teaches you something no book or quote ever can.

This is why I share these words today—with love, not judgment:

"You cannot hold space for someone who won’t hold space for themselves."

In relationships, we often sense the potential—the soul, the heart, the possibility of depth. And when we love someone, we want to walk with them into that healing. We want to go deeper. To evolve together.

But if the other person is not ready—or unable—to meet themselves in their own pain, fear, or shadow, they will NOT be able to meet you there either. No matter how much they love you. No matter how much you love them.

It does NOT mean the love was not real. It means the container for that love had limits.

There comes a time when you must choose your own growth, your own peace, your own healing. Even when it hurts. Even when it feels like giving up.

I had to learn how to bow out with grace.

And now, I have learned how to grieve with grace too.

Life is so fragile. And the deepest gift we can give ourselves and others is the courage to do the work. To evolve. To be present. To meet ourselves—and each other—more fully, more honestly, and more tenderly.