Don't Lose Yourself in Someone Else’s Story - Love Lesson from the Bhagavad Gita

Somewhere along the way, we started calling it love when we forgot who we were. We stopped showing up for ourselves because showing up for them felt more urgent. We blurred our boundaries because closeness felt like a reason to lose shape. We handed over our voice because silence kept the peace. And slowly—so slowly we didn’t even notice—we left the story of our own life and wandered into someone else’s. And we called it love. But the Bhagavad Gita, a text that's watched humanity repeat the same emotional loops for thousands of years, offers a quiet, grounding reminder: your soul came here with a purpose. Don’t trade it for a place in someone else’s plans.

That’s not a line from a therapist’s office—it’s straight from Krishna himself. In the Gita, when Arjuna is paralyzed by doubt, Krishna doesn’t say, “Do what makes others comfortable.” He says, “Do your duty. Follow your path. Even if it’s hard, even if it hurts, even if it isolates you. Because living your truth poorly is better than living someone else’s truth perfectly.” You hear that? Being true to yourself—even clumsily—is more sacred than being perfect in a role you were never meant to play.

We’ve romanticized sacrifice so much, we’ve forgotten that love isn’t supposed to cost you your selfhood. Being in love should not feel like being erased. Yes, love takes compromise. But it shouldn’t take your clarity. Yes, love means support. But it shouldn’t mean silence. Yes, love brings closeness. But it shouldn’t blur your edges until you don’t know where you end and they begin. You were not born to orbit around someone else’s gravity. You have your own center. Your own calling. Your own meaning. And any love that doesn’t make room for that—is not love. It’s attachment. It’s dependence. It’s fear, dressed up as romance.

This is the question the Gita keeps returning to—not in so many words, but in every verse. Who are you beneath the roles? Beneath the obligations? Beneath the longing to be enough for someone else? The wisdom of that question is this: You are already enough. And your becoming doesn’t need to be conditional on someone staying.

You are not cold for protecting your peace. You are not unloving for refusing to shrink. The Gita doesn’t say, “Detach and never care again.” It says: care, but don’t cling. Be present, but don’t disappear. Love, but don’t lose your center. The moment you begin performing for love, you’ve stepped out of truth and into illusion. And love built on illusion will always ask for more than you can safely give.

The one that sees you, clearly. The one that doesn’t flinch when you grow. The one that doesn’t need you to fold just to keep the peace. The one that deepens your identity instead of diluting it. And before you wait for that love from someone else—be that love for yourself. Because the most sacred promise isn’t “I’ll never leave you.” It’s this: “I won’t leave myself for you.” And the next time love knocks—welcome it. But don’t forget who you were before it arrived. That person? They deserve to stay.