I’m someone who believes love is a choice.

Not lust.

Not attraction.

Not chemistry.

Not those first few moments when you meet someone and just know.

For the most part, those things are out of our hands. They are biological or psychological. They are based on hormones and desire and longing.

But to me, love—the deep, long-lasting kind, the kind that survives—is a series of choices. It is knowing the good and the bad, the ins and the outs, the ups and the downs of someone and deciding to move forward with them every day. It’s knowing everything that could go wrong and believing this person, and the connection you have, is worth the risk. It’s knowing that in order to make your love a healthy one, you have to be willing to put in the work.

The choices we make about love don’t always feel logical, and the consequences of those choices have an impact on more than just our hearts.

Who we choose can change our lives. Who we choose can enhance our lives. Who we choose can ruin our lives.

Relationship expert Jillian Turecki explains it this way:

 

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Because when we choose love, we’re really choosing…

Our level of peace.

The scent on our pillow each morning.

Whether we’re cooking in or dining out on Fridays.

The health of our nervous system.

Our forever plus-one.

The hand we will hold or pull away from when we’re struggling.

Our partner in the parenting trenches.

The jokes we’ll laugh at with abandon and the ones we’ll learn to tolerate.

Whether we’re lounging on the beach or booking an 8 a.m. guided tour.

How we’ll resolve conflict.

Who will do the yard work and clean the bathrooms.

The holidays we’ll cherish and the ones we’ll forget to remember.

Our soft place to land.

The person who will sit by our bedside in the hospital.

Whether we’re a “shoes on” or “shoes off” house.

The stories we’ll hear over and over (and over) again.

What intimacy will look like in their eyes and feel like on our fingertips.

Our children’s first love, protector, and emergency contact.

How we’ll spend our weekends.

Whether it’s trashy reality TV or football on Monday nights.

The eyes we’ll stare into when we need connection.

Who we’ll cry to when our aging parents need care or support.

How often we’ll think and hear and say “I love you.”

The childhood trauma we’ll be forced to face.

Our best friend, teammate, and co-conspirator.

Whether we’ll go to bed angry or talk it out first.

The arms that will embrace us in times of joy and sorrow.

How safe we feel when we crawl into bed each night, close our eyes, and drift off to sleep next to the one we chose.

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