The song What Love Really Means by JJ Heller was one I deeply related to growing up. It was always on repeat, and when I finally picked up a guitar, I learned to play it—not well, mind you, but just enough to stumble through.
Do you resonate with the little boy sitting in the corner, feeling unseen? Maybe you grew up in a home where you were just… there. Your presence was acknowledged, but never truly valued. I know that feeling well.
As an adoptee, I often felt like I was in constant competition for space—for recognition. Others seemed to fit so effortlessly, their belonging unquestioned. Meanwhile, I felt like an afterthought, always a step behind, struggling to be seen and heard. No matter how much I longed for validation, my experiences were minimized, my emotions dismissed. It felt like my place in the family came with an unspoken expectation: to be grateful, to not ask for too much, to accept that my struggles, my pain, and even my identity weren’t as significant in the grand scheme of things.
Maybe you know that feeling too—the weight of carrying a story no one seemed to notice or understand. Maybe you prayed every night for God to send someone, anyone, who would just listen. Who would see you. Who would believe you.
Or maybe you’re the person who feels like the office walls are closing in a little more each day. Your spouse left, and now you’re forcing yourself to add one more thing to your routine—going to the gym, working harder—anything to better yourself. Deep down, you wonder, If I was thinner, if I changed my physique, maybe they wouldn’t have left.
Perhaps you know what it’s like to live in a home where love feels conditional—where anger lurks in the shadows, and you’ve learned to stay quiet to avoid setting someone off. Maybe, like me, you’ve experienced the fear of living in a marriage shaped by domestic violence. You learned to make yourself small, to anticipate every mood shift, to carry a weight that was never yours to bear.
Or maybe you’re the one sitting alone in a prison cell, sentenced to a life you can’t escape. I’ve never been incarcerated, but in many ways, my adoptive family kept me imprisoned by my past. It felt like a life sentence—every mistake held over my head, every attempt at growth dismissed. No matter how much I asked for forgiveness or tried to explain myself, I remained locked in a cycle of judgment, serving time for choices I made as a child.
And yet, that longing never went away—the deep ache to be seen for who I was, to be loved simply because I existed. What Love Really Means put words to that ache. It reminded me that even when I felt invisible, God saw me. Even when I felt like I had to earn my place, He had already called me His.
Because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We search, we strive, we chase after love, hoping someone will tell us we matter. We fight to prove our worth, only to be met with silence. But the truth is, we were never meant to earn what has already been given.
“I know you’ve lied. I see your insecurities—why you crave attention, why you long to be seen. I know you’ve cheated, looked at someone other than your spouse, or walked away from your marriage. I know why you’ve made the choices you have.”
Whatever your circumstances, God knows. He has seen every detail of your life—every high, every low. And now, finally, as you begin to listen, He speaks:
“I will love you for you. Not for what you’ve done, not for who you are in this moment, but simply because I created you. You are beautifully and wonderfully made. And my love for you is unwavering.”
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