Mya P.

Photographed by Luther Bells

If you’re reading this, love people enough to let them in.

Growing up, I was taught to sit with the new kid at lunch, notice when someone felt left out, and include them. Somewhere along the way, I started believing that if I could make other people feel loved enough, they would love me in return.  

I became really good at showing up for people. Remembering the little things, sending the check in text, writing the card, and making sure the people in my life knew how much they meant to me. But I wasn't always as good at letting people do those things for me. I knew how to give love, but receiving it felt a little more complicated.  

When friendships changed, or the love I gave wasn't returned in the way I hoped, I started to believe that maybe the problem was how much of myself I gave away. So I tried to change my ways and protect myself. I became more careful about who I let in and more hesitant to get attached.  

But after being at Clemson, I've learned that protecting yourself from being hurt can sometimes mean protecting yourself from being loved, too.  

I've also learned that letting people in doesn't mean letting everyone in. Sometimes, the easiest people to let in aren't always the best people to let in. Some people make connections feel effortless at first but leave you questioning yourself later. Others take a little more time to get to know but make you feel safe enough to be yourself. I've learned that I don't have to confuse familiarity with trust or attention with genuine care.   

The people I've met here haven't magically made me stop overthinking or questioning myself. I still replay conversations and wonder if I'm too much sometimes.   

But I've learned that I don't have to be the easiest person to love to be loved.   

I don't have to earn a place in someone's life. And I don't have to make myself smaller just because I'm afraid that the fullness of my heart and my passion might overwhelm someone else.  

Maybe growth isn't becoming someone who cares less but learning that caring deeply doesn't have to come at the expense of caring for yourself.  

You can love people without taking responsibility for their happiness. You can acknowledge that you've been hurt without deciding that everyone you meet will hurt you, too. You can be afraid of getting hurt and still choose to be open.  

You can tell your friends when you're having a hard time instead of waiting until you've worked through it alone. You can believe a compliment without immediately making a joke. You can let people love you, especially the people who have shown you that their love is something you can trust.  

I don't think I'll ever stop being the person who wants to sit with the new kid at lunch. I never want to stop noticing the little things, loving my friends loudly, or making people feel like they belong. Those things are a part of me that I never want to lose.  

But I'm learning that I deserve the care I work to give everyone else.  

If you're reading this, I hope you don't let the people who failed to love you well convince you to stop loving altogether. I hope you don't confuse independence with never needing anyone, or strength with pretending that nothing hurts. I hope you find people who make it feel safe to be yourself, and I hope you give yourself the chance to recognize them. I hope you love people enough to let them in. 

Mya P., Clemson University

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