The Secret War Inside My Heart

There’s a story my grandmother used to tell about the time a coyote disguised himself as a man to win a woman’s heart. The shape-shifter slinked into the village, dressed in his best human skin, and whispered sweet lies into her ear. She fell for him, of course, only to find later that his true nature was sharp-teethed and fleeting. The moral? Be wary of who you trust—but also, don’t be surprised when the predator turns tail.

I think about that story sometimes when I reflect on the greatest secret battle of my dating life: the one I fought against my own assumptions, insecurities, and that pesky, shape-shifting beast called “self-worth.” It wasn’t a fight with another person; it was with myself. And winning it? Well, let’s just say I didn’t need a coyote to trick me into believing I wasn’t enough. I was doing a pretty good job of that all on my own.

Let me explain.

Section 1: “It’s Not You, It’s Fear”

Years ago, in the aftermath of a particularly brutal breakup (the kind that leaves you reeling, clutching a pint of mint chocolate ice cream like it’s a flotation device), I found myself saying, “I’m done with love.” It was cliché. It was dramatic. It was 100% me.

To the outside world, I was busy. I threw myself into work, hobbies, and the incomparable solace of baking fry bread with my aunties in Arizona. But in secret, I was boarding up my heart like it was hurricane season and love was a Category 5 storm.

The truth is, I wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t “done with love” in a cool, Carrie-Bradshaw-walking-away-from-Mr.-Big kind of way. I was terrified. Masquerading as my self-assured self, I let fear—fear of rejection, vulnerability, failure—dictate how I lived. Spoiler alert: fear is terrible at giving life advice.

Section 2: Love Armor Isn’t Fixing the Problem

To ward off another emotional ambush, I built what I affectionately called my “armor of indifference.” It had shiny parts, like deflective humor, and softer, sneakier versions, like ghosting before anyone could ghost me (#self-sabotage at its finest). My dates didn’t stand a chance—I wasn’t even letting them see me.

For context, I once ditched a dinner date because I convinced myself I’d said something dumb over text beforehand. Instead of apologizing or just… showing up, I chose to spend that evening reorganizing my bookshelf alphabetically (and by color). Does falling in love with the “T” section of Toni Morrison count? Probably not.

But the thing about armor—even the invisible kind—is that it gets heavy. It keeps people out, sure, but it also traps you in. My life wasn’t richer or safer because I was “guarded”; it was smaller, lonelier, and depending on far too many bagels for comfort.

Section 3: Cue the Glow-Up (Sort Of)

The breakthrough didn’t come in a grand, cinematic moment of realization. No one slapped sense into me or ran after my car in the rain to declare undying love. Frankly, I wouldn’t recommend waiting for that.

Instead, it came in quieter, subtler ways. The flicker of clarity during a solo hike in the Arizona high desert. The reaffirming words of a therapist who reminded me, “You don’t have to be ‘perfect’ to be lovable.” And honestly? Watching Sandra Bullock’s character in Miss Congeniality learn how to self-accept while wearing a sparkly gown worked some magic too.

So, I started doing the work. Not the Pinterest-board, soft-light, self-love aesthetic they sell you on Instagram, but the real work. The kind where you ugly-cry while sifting through your fears in therapy. The kind where you write yourself cringe-worthy affirmation notes like, “You are enough, just as you are” and tape them to the bathroom mirror.

Bit by bit, I chipped away at the belief that love was a war I needed to win. It wasn’t. It was much more like a dance—awkward but full of potential if I stopped stepping on my own toes.

Section 4: Letting Go of the Coyote

Perhaps the most surprising part of my journey wasn’t falling back into love with someone else but rather rediscovering what loving myself felt like. Being secure in my skin, flaws and freckles and all. Turning the volume down on lovesick coyote tricksters that whispered, “You’re too much,” or “You’re not enough,” and choosing to hear my own voice instead.

What’s wild is that by doing this, I became a better partner overall. I could communicate more honestly, set boundaries without guilt, and actually open myself up to the real possibility of connection. Sure, dating still felt like negotiating a truce some days, but I wasn’t walking into it armed to the teeth anymore.

Section 5: How You Can Escape Your Own Battle

Chances are, you’re fighting a quiet battle too. Maybe it’s the voice inside telling you no one will text back, or the habit of comparing yourself to influencers who “have it all figured out.” I get it. But you don’t win love by waging war on yourself. Here’s what I wish I’d known sooner:

  • Drop the Drama: Love isn't an epic battlefield—it’s a cozy campfire. Stop plotting your next defensive strategy and just sit with the warmth that’s already there.
  • Rewrite the Stories: What stories have you told yourself about love? That it ends in heartbreak? That you’re unworthy? Question them. Editing isn’t just for novels—it’s for your mindset too.
  • Celebrate Small Wins: Vulnerability isn’t an all-or-nothing game. Opening up in small ways—sharing a laugh or admitting a fear—counts. Give yourself credit.
  • Be Patient: Healing takes time, but so does building a skyscraper. Trust the process.

Conclusion: Love Without Armor

These days, I don’t wear “I’m fine” like a badge of honor. I’ve replaced the armor with something more honest: an openness to love and an acceptance that real connections require vulnerability. And if I happen to meet the occasional coyote along the way? I’ll recognize him beneath the disguise.

Because the truth is, the real battle isn’t with love itself—it’s finding the courage to believe you truly deserve it. And you do. You always have.