Receiving Love, Becoming Love - Love is all there is.

I never doubted Krsna’s love for me.

But I struggled with my love for Him - feeling, expressing, and surrendering to it.

On Valentine’s Day, I joined the Vitality Living College’s EFT Serve-Love Clinic, not expecting much. The theme was love, and we began exploring its many forms. But what unfolded was something much deeper- an unspoken struggle I hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

I began reflecting on the ways I had received love in life and, more importantly, the ways I hadn’t. With EFT and Inner Child Matrix work, I uncovered something profound: while my mind knew I was loved, somewhere inside, I had absorbed the belief that love had to be earned.

If I scored good marks, I would receive my father’s affection- or at least, I wouldn’t disappoint him.

If I became good at the house chores, I could win my mother’s approval.

If I behaved well, my teacher would be kind.

If I looked cool, maybe the boy would notice me.

A memory even surfaced where I felt I didn’t deserve Krsna’s love. I thought I had to change everything about myself just to be worthy of Him.

These beliefs weren’t conscious. They were buried so deep that I had no awareness of them. But they shaped my life in ways I couldn’t see. I either became a relentless people-pleaser, doing whatever it took to keep others happy, or I withdrew completely, convinced that relationships weren’t safe.

And even with Krsna, my love felt mechanical. My words, my prayers, my service- they seemed superficial, distant. As if I was performing an act rather than surrendering my heart.

Then, something shifted.

As I connected my present understanding of Krsna’s unconditional love to my inner child- the little me who had never known love without conditions- something broke open.

The memories that once felt heavy with pressure and expectation suddenly felt lighter. I saw my father not as someone I had to impress, but as a man trying to look out for me in the way he knew best. My mother wasn’t withholding love; she was teaching me survival as she had learned it. My teachers weren’t judging me; they were hoping I would succeed. The boy had his own choices to make, and they had nothing to do with my worth. Even the devotee who once denied me information wasn’t rejecting me- perhaps she was simply being cautious, unsure of my sincerity.

And through it all, Krsna was there. Through Prabhupada, through the parampara, through the devotees, He had already accepted me- completely.

No tests. No conditions. Just love. Yatha tatha va—as I am, however I am, I belong to Him.

And for the first time in months, my chanting felt different. Not a duty, not a habit, but a connection. It felt alive. It felt healing.

True Selflessness Begins With Love

This journey taught me something that resonates deeply with my path.

We often speak of selflessness- of serving others, of giving ourselves fully in devotion. But true selflessness doesn’t arise from emptiness. It doesn’t come from being so broken that we have no choice but to give.

Many of us have been there- we’ve been selfless because we’ve felt unworthy of asking for anything. We’ve given our all to others because we believed we had nothing valuable left for ourselves. We’ve served because we thought we didn’t deserve to receive.

But that is not true selflessness. Real selflessness comes from a healed heart- a heart that chooses to give, not because it feels unworthy of receiving, but because it is overflowing with love. When we are filled with Krsna’s love, when we allow ourselves to receive it, our service becomes bhakti- pure, joyful, free from expectation or need.

The acharyas, in their infinite humility, call themselves fallen—not because they are, but because they are truly absorbed in the mood of dependence on Krsna. They see themselves as insignificant before His unlimited mercy.

But for most of us, calling ourselves fallen is not humility—it is simply the truth. The problem arises when we mistake our honest self-assessment for humility and remain stuck in it, assuming that labeling ourselves "fallen" is enough. True humility is not just saying "I am lowly," but knowing where we stand, accepting it without self-pity, and allowing that truth to liberate us into deeper surrender.

There’s a difference between self-awareness and self-deprecation.

If our realization of being fallen leads us to hopelessness, inaction, or a sense of unworthiness, then it’s not humility—it’s false ego in another form. But if it leads us to surrender more, serve more, and take complete shelter of Krsna, then it is genuine humility, the kind that acharyas embody.

To know the truth.
To accept the truth.
And to let it liberate us.

That is where real freedom begins.

Taking responsibility for our inner healing is not selfish. It is the deepest act of love, for ourselves and for others. Because when we stop chasing love, when we stop fearing that it will be taken away, we finally become capable of loving truly.

And that is when selflessness becomes bliss. Because I always knew I belonged to Krsna.

But today—I truly felt it.