The Luv Doc: Show Your Scars

Hey Luv Doc,

 I come to you to ask what I feel is a worthwhile question that I cannot seem to answer at this point in my life. Is love worth it? For my entire life, I shied away from it because I saw how messed up my parents were, but more importantly, how they seemed to make each other the worst versions of themselves. Simply put, I’ve never really seen any example of what a healthy relationship looks like. This, along with a few other factors in my life, gave me a deep fear of vulnerability and being known. A couple of years ago, I came close to wanting it though. With someone who genuinely felt like a drug to be around, like some sort of horrible addiction. I felt like he knew me better than anyone, but eventually my worst fears came true when I shared a particularly vulnerable moment, and he decided to joke around and make fun instead of showing me any compassion. He’s no longer in my life, but now wanting anything romantic, or even allowing myself to flirt or talk to anyone, it just feels like there’s a wall up. I can’t seem to want it anymore. More so, after that, it felt like the universe confirming that my fear of vulnerability was justified and that there may not be any benefit to letting people in. What do you think I should do?  

– Leery of Love

Lean in. After more than a few trips around the sun, I can say that literally none of the magnificent, mystical, or transformational moments of my life were the result of protecting myself – emotionally, at least. There have been plenty of times where bobbing and weaving might have saved me a broken nose (I’ve had at least three) or a black eye (honestly, who’s counting, but they usually come gratis with a broken nose). Those moments are fuzzy at best and I’m probably giving myself more credit than I deserve. It’s just as likely that I bobbed and weaved myself into even worse trouble. Not surprisingly, some of my most impressive scars were the most painful – goddammit – but they also make for some of the best stories. I won’t bore you with those stories right now. I simply want to illustrate the point that when I tell you to lean in, I have a decent amount of experience with getting hurt, but I have absolutely no skin in the game as far as you’re concerned. You’re going to have to take the hits.

I think the hits are worth it though. In fact, I would argue that one of the things that makes you interesting is that you found another person you actually felt addicted to – horrible as that addiction might have been – and you opened yourself up to him in a way that made you feel vulnerable. Was he a dick? Yes, but that’s a fucking story. That’s a transformative experience that will make you a wiser, interesting, more well-rounded person. It’s one of the big painful scars, right? Next time you feel addicted to someone … and hopefully there will be someone else you’re really excited about – you might be a bit more cautious about opening up to them. I am going to suggest you do it anyway, because you shouldn’t let assholes scare you away from your humanity … from trying to reach out and connect with people you care about. You are likely going to get burned a few times because the world is full of insecure assholes – literally teeming with them right now – but you’ll be a lot better at spotting them, which is a useful skill.

Here’s my hot take: It’s neither brave nor impressive to be the guarded, untrusting, calculating person that never lets their guard down. It is, however, a great way to end up friendless, abandoned, and alone. In America we mythologize the aloof loner. Clint Eastwood, Kung Fu, Jeremiah Johnson, Humphrey Bogart … but in reality most loners lean towards Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver or worse yet, Jesse Plemons in Bugonia. I don’t want that for you, even if your batshit theory is correct. No matter what American mythology tries to sell you, humans are social creatures. We thrive in groups. Loners end up being eaten by bears or sawing their arm off with a dull pocketknife because there’s no one around to roll off the boulder.

I also understand the trauma of unhappy parents, but that experience doesn’t make you genetically predetermined to live in matrimonial misery. I would argue it will protect you against it. Tear down the wall. Start flirting again. Open up. Be honest, be brave, and most of all be yourself and show your scars … when you’re ready. I believe it’s worth it, and good people don’t really care what the assholes think.

This article appears in July 24 • 2026.