I didn’t become a love and relationship coach because I had it all figured out—I became one because I didn’t.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be in love. As a young girl, I would swoon over Disney princess movies, race through romance novels filled with timeless love stories, and live for films that showcased love of epic proportions. I wanted to feel that kind of love so badly.
Because I didn’t feel loved by the people around me. My family loved me the best they knew how, but they were navigating their own generational trauma, enmeshment, and mental health struggles. When it came to love, they were emotionally unavailable. Yes, I was housed, fed, supported, and cared for—and I knew my family loved me—but emotional support, acceptance, belonging, and value? That was nonexistent. And I have to stress this: it truly wasn’t their fault. You can’t give what you’ve never received.
That lack of emotional connection needed to foster security in self just wasn’t there for me. So naturally, I sought love and security in other places. And honestly? Movies, books, and TV taught me that this was not only totally normal, but exactly where I would find the love I was seeking. Lines like “You complete me,” “I’ll never let go,” and “I will always find you” convinced me that the lack of value and worthiness I felt could only be fixed with romantic love.
Now, knowing what I know today, I wish I could jump back in time and stop that sweet little girl from diving off a cliff into a sea full of sharks. I can picture it: current me, all wide-eyed and frantic, gripping younger me tightly and shaking her, “Romantic love isn’t the answer! Beware of avoidants! Gaslighting! Narcissists!” She’d probably burst into tears and be scarred for life, but hey, at least she’d be saved from the next twenty years of heartache.
But nobody was there to warn me. So, I set out into the world of romance fully believing my worth was tied to whether someone loved me or not.
When a person ties their value to a relationship, it never ends well.
From my first relationship at 15 years old and well into my early 30s, I went from one bad relationship to another. I was what people would call a “serial monogamist.” I literally couldn’t be single; I was too insecure to be. I was ALWAYS in a relationship. I was also always: crying, fighting, questioning myself and my worth, begging, shrinking, walking on eggshells, being lied to, put down, and cheated on. It was awful, but I thought, “This is love.”
My relationships with these men would always start the same. There would be this almost magical connection—ELECTRIC. Even writing about it now, I get excited. We’d be obsessed with each other for the first few weeks, and then, ever so slightly, something would change. Maybe he’d message less. Maybe he’d say, “I can’t see you tonight.” Maybe a kiss would feel off. I was HYPER-sensitive to even the smallest shifts—the tone in his voice, the cadence of his texts, the way he moved. I could just tell.
And as soon as I felt that shift, I leaned in harder. Tried more, did more. I was desperate to get back what we had in the beginning. But it never worked. Things ALWAYS went from bad to worse. He’d pull away, lie, cheat, criticize. And the worse it got, the more I chased the high of those early days. I just knew that if I got better, if I changed, if I tried harder, things would go back to how they were.
And sometimes, they did—briefly. After a bad fight, we’d make up and be over the moon. Or after weeks of silence, we’d reconnect and feel enamored again. The highs were HIGH, and the lows were LOW. But oh, THE HIGHS! Rekindling with a partner after feeling worthless was INTOXICATING. It was like a drug. When we were back together, I felt safe. Whole.
Well… sort of whole. It was never quite the same as the beginning. And I was never truly safe. I always felt like it could be taken away at any moment. Like if I did something wrong, it would all disappear. Thus, the walking on eggshells. I needed to be perfect so I wouldn’t lose my partner—my “safety.” Myself.
Because when someone finally broke up with me for good? I couldn’t handle it. I mean that seriously. I couldn’t physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually handle losing the relationship. It felt like my soul was being ripped from my body. The pain was unbearable. I wouldn’t just cry; I would sob uncontrollably until I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or even shower. It felt like all my energy was sucked away, and all I could do was sit under the crushing weight of rejection.
REJECTION.
That was the word burned into my heart after every breakup.
“He rejected you because you weren’t good enough.” “You weren’t pretty enough.” “You weren’t smart enough.” “You weren’t secure enough.”
YOU. ARE. NOT. ENOUGH.
The shame I felt was unbearable. For me, the rejection wasn’t of the relationship—it was of me. My core beliefs screamed that I wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t worthy of love, that people who had epic love stories were simply better than me.
And I was obsessed with my exes. I would call and text non-stop, stalk them on every social media platform, and spend hours on the phone with friends, obsessively dissecting what went wrong. I was triggered by everything—if a new girl followed my ex, I’d burst into tears. If they got a new girlfriend? Full public breakdown. Once, I found out an ex was dating the girl he cheated on me with, and I had a complete meltdown at work—in front of all my coworkers. Mortifying. But I didn’t care. I was so destroyed.
It was like that EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. When someone ended things with me, it destroyed me and impacted every area of my life: friendships, career, health, and wealth. First, I’d be devastated. Then, I’d numb myself—eating, drinking, partying, shopping… anything to avoid feeling the shame and pain. I would miss work or perform poorly. I was like a drug addict wasting away because I couldn’t get a fix.
The ONLY thing that could soothe my pain and take away my shame was the very person who caused it. I almost always got back with my exes. It was the only thing that made me feel better. And they almost always got back with me. The only way I could break the cycle was to find someone else while trying to get back with my ex. So, that’s how I went—from one guy to the next, repeating the same pattern over and over.
So how did I finally stop?
I had one boyfriend who was the pinnacle of all the relationships I’d ever had. We will call him G. This is the relationship that both utterly destroyed me and fundamentally changed me. I had just turned 25, was living in a foreign country, and was physically and mentally exhausted from my job flying. I was at the height of my insecurity. Everyone in Dubai was so beautiful and successful, and I felt like nothing next to them. I met G at the height of all of this—it was the perfect storm.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t even connect with G on our first date. But one night, my most recent ex was ignoring me, so I reached out to G. I invited him over, and when I opened the door, I felt a rush of relief and safety. And that was it. I felt seen, longed for, valued. We didn’t have anything in common, I wasn’t that physically attracted to him, and our life visions didn’t align. But I felt insecure, and G temporarily made me feel secure.
That one night of insecurity led to 2.5 years of the most intense highs and lows I had ever experienced in a relationship. Two years in, I found out G had been having an affair. He had cheated on me multiple times before, but this was the tipping point. I broke up with him in an extremely dramatic way—crying, yelling, mascara running down my face.
We were in a hotel, and after G left, I had the most impactful moment of clarity.
I was staring at myself in the mirror, trying to clean the makeup off my face, asking myself how this could happen AGAIN. I asked myself why I was always the one crying, hurting, lied to. It happened over and over again. Every boyfriend I had ever had treated me poorly, and I just didn’t understand why.
Then, a quiet but calm voice entered my head:
“You. This keeps happening because of you.”
It was so calm, clear, and powerful. I was the reason this kept happening to me. I kept asking why I attracted the wrong people, but the truth was that everyone attracts those people. I was just letting them stay.
I also realized that nothing about me said, “cheat on her, lie to her, breadcrumb her.” I kept thinking I needed to change something about myself, and then these men would change their behavior. But in the stark morning light of that bathroom, I realized nothing I did or didn’t do would change other people. The only person I could change was me. I knew in that moment I had to break the cycle.
That morning, I blocked G on everything and made an appointment with a therapist. I spent the next five years doing everything I could to work on myself—reading self-help books, learning from relationship coaches, working with my therapist, listening to podcasts, meditating, praying, growing. It was brutal. I had to face parts of myself I was ashamed of. I had to make peace with regrets and mourn losses. But I was determined. I rewired my brain. I healed my heart.
Today, I am different.
That girl crying in the mirror would be STUNNED by who I am now. She’d be amazed at my strong boundaries, positive self-talk, and over-the-top love for myself. Now, I am my true love, my biggest cheerleader, my own prince charming. I am surrounded by loving, supportive friends and family, and I have the most amazing partner.
I did that. I did the work. I am not just surviving—I’m THRIVING. And every day, I still work on myself, still heal, still grow. But now, when something feels bad, scary, or hard, I get excited. Because I know I’ll come out of it a stronger, wiser, more incredible version of myself.
And now, all I want to do is help you become the baddest, wisest, best version of yourself. My breakups were BRUTAL—but they were also transformative.
If you’re still reading, you see yourself in my story. I know you’re ready to heal because you’re here. Let’s transform your heartbreak into your greatest strength—together.
You got this, babe.
Xoxo, Lupe Love
