Chapter 1: You Are the Source of Love

You’ve probably spent a lot of time searching for love—scanning faces, chasing sparks, hoping someone out there will fill the empty spaces inside you. Vex King turns that quest upside down in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*. The first truth he lays bare is that love isn’t something you find; it’s something you already have. You are the source. This isn’t a fluffy platitude but a foundational shift in how you see yourself and every relationship you’ll ever have. King argues that love begins within you, radiating outward, shaping how you connect with others. Without tapping into that inner well, you’re left chasing shadows.

The Inner Reservoir

Think about how often you tie love to external validation—someone’s approval, a partner’s affection, even a kind word from a stranger. King suggests this habit sets you up for disappointment because it hands your power to others. He writes, “Love isn’t a gift someone else gives you permission to feel—it’s a state you cultivate.” This idea flips the script

instead of waiting for love to arrive, you generate it. He uses the metaphor of a reservoir—always there, waiting for you to draw from it. The catch? You’ve got to believe it’s there, even when life feels dry.

King backs this with a personal story. He recalls a time when he felt unloved, stuck in a cycle of rejection. It wasn’t until he stopped looking outward and started nurturing his own sense of worth that things shifted. The lesson here is practical: you can’t pour from an empty cup, but you also don’t need anyone else to fill it. This isn’t about isolation—it’s about owning your emotional foundation so you can share it freely.

Why This Matters for Relationships

Here’s where it gets interesting. If you’re the source of love, then every connection you build reflects what you bring to it. King ties this to a universal truth: people respond to the energy you carry. When you’re desperate for love, others sense it—and often pull away. But when you’re grounded in your own worth, you attract something real. He points to studies showing that self-assured people tend to form stronger, more balanced relationships. It’s not magic; it’s cause and effect.

This perspective also frees you from a common trap: expecting someone else to “complete” you. King calls this a Hollywood lie—one we’ll unpack more in the next chapter—but for now, he insists it’s your job to feel whole. He asks you to imagine a relationship where both people show up already full, sharing rather than taking. That’s the groundwork he’s laying here: love starts with you, and everything else flows from that.

Putting It Into Practice

So how do you tap into this source? King offers simple steps, but they’re not easy. First, notice where you seek love outside yourself—maybe it’s in likes on a post or a partner’s mood. Then, pause. Ask what you’re really after: security, joy, peace? Now, give that to yourself. Maybe it’s a quiet moment of gratitude or a decision to stop criticizing your reflection. He shares an exercise: write down three things you love about yourself daily. It sounds small, but over time, it rewires you to see your own value.

King admits this takes guts. Society drills into you that love is a prize you win, not a seed you plant. Yet he doubles down: “The moment you realize you’re enough, you stop begging for love and start living it.” This isn’t about arrogance—it’s about trust. Trust that you’re capable of creating what you’ve been chasing.

What’s the payoff? You walk into every interaction—romantic or not—with a steadiness that changes the game. You’re not clutching at people to save you; you’re meeting them as equals. This chapter sets the stage for everything King builds later: if love lives in you first, then the myths, struggles, and growth that follow all rest on this truth. You’re not a passive player in your own story—you’re the starting point.

Chapter 2: Romantic Myths Sabotage Connection

You’ve been sold a story about love since you were old enough to listen—fairy tales, rom-coms, and pop songs all whispering the same promises. There’s a soulmate out there who’ll sweep you off your feet, make every day a fireworks show, and fix all your broken pieces. Vex King calls this what it is

a myth. In *Things No One Taught Us About Love*, he dismantles these fantasies not to ruin your fun, but to save you from the wreckage they leave behind. These romantic illusions don’t just set unrealistic expectations—they actively sabotage your ability to connect deeply with anyone.

The Soulmate Mirage

Let’s start with the big one: the idea of “the one.” You know the drill—somewhere out there is a perfect match, destined to complete you. King argues this is a setup for failure. He writes, “The soulmate myth turns love into a treasure hunt instead of a garden you tend.” The problem? It keeps you scanning the horizon instead of standing in the present. When you’re obsessed with finding perfection, you miss the real person in front of you—the one with flaws, quirks, and a heartbeat.

King shares a wake-up call from his own life. He once believed in soulmates, pinning his happiness on a relationship that checked all the boxes—until it didn’t. The crash taught him that no one can be your everything. Research backs him up: studies on relationship satisfaction show that people who ditch the soulmate ideal tend to build stronger, more resilient partnerships. Why? Because they stop waiting for magic and start working with reality.

Love Isn’t a Cure

Next up is the myth that love fixes you. You’ve felt it—that hope that a relationship will heal your insecurities or erase your past. King says this is backwards. “Love amplifies what’s already there,” he explains, “it doesn’t rewrite it.” If you’re carrying wounds or self-doubt, a partner might hold your hand through it, but they’re not your therapist. Clinging to this fantasy puts unfair pressure on them and leaves you disappointed when the cracks still show.

He illustrates this with a couple he knew: one partner Expected the other to banish their anxiety. When love didn’t pull off the miracle, resentment crept in. The truth King drives home is that healing is your job—love just gives you a mirror to see it clearer. This ties back to the first chapter: you’re the source, not the sponge.

Happily Ever After Is a Lie

Then there’s the grand finale of romantic myths: the promise of endless bliss. You meet, you fall, and life becomes a montage of sunsets and laughter. King begs you to let this go. Real love, he insists, isn’t a flatline of happiness—it’s a wave, with highs, lows, and everything in between. “The expectation of constant joy sets you up to see normal struggles as failures,” he warns. This myth makes you question a relationship the moment it gets hard, when that hardness might be where the real growth lives.

He points to his own journey here. After the honeymoon phase faded in a past relationship, he panicked—until he realized fading fireworks didn’t mean fading love. Data supports this: long-term couples report that satisfaction deepens not from constant euphoria, but from navigating challenges together. King’s takeaway? Stop chasing the movie ending and start embracing the messy middle.

Breaking Free

So how do you ditch these myths? King suggests a reality check. First, question the stories you’ve swallowed—ask yourself where they came from and what they’ve cost you. Maybe you’ve pushed away good people because they didn’t fit the script. Next, redefine love on your terms. For King, it’s less about destiny and more about choice—choosing someone not because they’re perfect, but because they’re worth it.

He offers a practical exercise: list the romantic ideals you’ve held (soulmates, instant fixes, endless passion) and write what you’d replace them with (growth, effort, acceptance). It’s a small act, but it rewires your lens. “When you let go of the myths,” he says, “you make room for something honest.” That honesty is what carries you forward—into self-love, into effort, into the real stuff of connection.

By stripping away these illusions, King doesn’t leave you cynical—he leaves you free. Free to see love as it is, not as a glossy poster. This chapter builds on the idea that you’re the source, showing you how the myths distort that truth. What comes next is how to nurture it, starting with yourself.

Chapter 3: Self-Love Fuels Healthy Relationships

You’ve probably heard it a thousand times

you can’t love someone else until you love yourself. It’s the kind of advice that sounds nice but feels vague—like a bumper sticker with no instructions. Vex King takes this cliché and gives it teeth in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*. He argues that self-love isn’t just a feel-good bonus; it’s the engine that powers every healthy relationship you’ll ever have. Without it, you’re running on fumes, expecting others to fuel you. With it, you bring something solid to the table—something that doesn’t collapse under pressure.

What Self-Love Really Means

First, let’s clear the fog. Self-love isn’t about bubble baths or bragging—it’s about trust. Trusting that you’re worthy, flaws and all. King writes, “Self-love is the quiet decision to stop punishing yourself for being human.” It’s not a destination you arrive at; it’s a practice you build. He’s blunt about why this matters: if you don’t believe you deserve love, you’ll either cling to anyone who offers it or push away those who try. Either way, you’re stuck.

King shares a raw moment from his past. He used to tie his worth to how others saw him—friends, partners, even strangers. When they pulled away, he crumbled. It wasn’t until he started rooting his value in himself that he stopped chasing approval. This isn’t narcissism—it’s survival. Studies echo this: people with higher self-esteem tend to have less conflict and more satisfaction in relationships. Why? Because they’re not begging for scraps.

The Ripple Effect

Here’s where it gets practical. When you love yourself, you change how you show up. You stop tolerating nonsense—not out of arrogance, but because you know your worth. King calls this a ripple effect: “When you value yourself, you teach others how to value you too.” It’s not about ultimatums; it’s about quiet confidence. You don’t need to scream for respect—you just carry it.

He tells a story of a friend who kept dating people who drained her. She’d complain, but she’d stay—until she started working on herself. Therapy, journaling, saying no. Suddenly, the takers didn’t stick around, and she didn’t care. Self-love drew a line in the sand. King ties this to you: when you’re solid in yourself, you attract people who match that energy. It’s not luck—it’s alignment.

Filling Your Own Cup

Now, connect this to the first chapter. You’re the source of love, right? Self-love is how you tap that source. King insists you can’t give what you don’t have. “If your cup’s empty,” he says, “you’re pouring resentment, not love.” This flips the martyr script—where you sacrifice yourself for others—on its head. Instead, you prioritize yourself so you can show up fully for them.

He offers a concrete example: time. You might give every spare minute to a partner, a friend, a job, until you’re burned out. Self-love means carving out space for you—maybe an hour to read, walk, or just breathe. King did this himself, cutting out toxic habits to rebuild his energy. The result? He had more to give, not less. It’s a paradox: focusing on yourself makes you better for everyone else.

How to Build It

So how do you start? King keeps it real. First, notice your self-talk. Are you your own bully, picking apart every mistake? Flip it—speak to yourself like you would a friend. He suggests a daily habit: write one thing you’re proud of. It could be tiny—I got out of bed, I helped someone—but it stacks up. Second, stop comparing. “Your journey isn’t theirs,” he reminds you. Social media makes this tough, but unfollowing the highlight reels helps.

Third, act like you matter. Say no when you need to. Rest when you’re tired. King admits this felt selfish to him at first—until he saw how it strengthened his relationships. “Self-love isn’t a solo act,” he writes, “it’s the foundation for every bond you build.” Research backs this: self-compassion correlates with better communication and empathy in partnerships. You’re not just healing yourself—you’re setting the tone.

This chapter bridges the myths you’ve shed and the work ahead. Self-love isn’t a luxury—it’s your fuel. Without it, you’ll keep falling for the same traps, chasing the same ghosts. With it, you’re ready to build something real. King’s not asking you to be perfect—just to start where you are. That’s enough.

Chapter 4: Connection Requires Effort, Not Just Feeling

You’ve likely felt it—that rush when you meet someone new, the way your heart races and the world feels brighter. It’s easy to think that’s love, that the spark alone will carry you through. Vex King shakes you out of that dream in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*. He insists that real connection isn’t built on fleeting feelings—it’s forged through effort. Love isn’t a wave you ride; it’s a house you construct, brick by brick. If you lean only on emotion, you’re setting yourself up for a collapse when the glow fades.

Beyond the Honeymoon

That initial buzz—the butterflies, the late-night talks—it’s intoxicating. But King warns it’s not the whole story. “Feelings are the spark,” he writes, “but effort is the fire.” The honeymoon phase, as psychologists call it, lasts anywhere from six months to two years. Then what? If you’ve banked everything on chemistry, you’re left scrambling when it shifts. King’s point is that love doesn’t sustain itself—it asks you to show up.

He shares a personal stumble here. Early in a relationship, he coasted on the high, assuming it would last. When routine set in, he felt lost—until he realized love needed work, not just vibes. Studies back this up

couples who actively nurture their bond—through communication, small acts, shared goals—report deeper satisfaction over time. The spark gets you started; effort keeps you going.

The Work of Showing Up

So what does effort look like? King breaks it down. It’s listening when you’d rather scroll your phone. It’s asking questions instead of assuming you know them. It’s choosing kindness when you’re annoyed. He tells a story of a couple he admired: after years together, they still planned weekly check-ins—not because they had to, but because they wanted to stay close. “Love thrives on intention,” he says. It’s less about grand gestures and more about consistency.

This ties to you directly. Think about the last time you let a connection drift—not because it ended, but because you stopped trying. King’s not judging; he’s been there. His fix? Small, deliberate acts. A text to say you’re thinking of them. A moment to really hear their day. Effort isn’t sexy—it’s quiet. But it’s what turns a fling into something lasting.

Navigating the Rough Patches

Here’s the kicker: effort matters most when it’s hard. Feelings dip—life gets busy, tempers flare, misunderstandings pile up. King argues this is where love proves itself. “Anyone can love when it’s easy,” he writes. “The test is what you do when it’s not.” He recalls a fight with a partner where he wanted to walk away. Instead, he stayed—talked it out, owned his part. It wasn’t fun, but it deepened their trust.

Data supports this: couples who work through conflict constructively—listening, compromising—build stronger bonds than those who avoid it. King’s not saying every fight is worth it, but if the connection matters, you don’t bail at the first storm. Effort means weathering the mess, not just basking in the sun.

Building Together

Effort isn’t solo—it’s a two-way street. King stresses that healthy relationships grow when both of you pitch in. Maybe you plan a date while they cook dinner. Maybe you tackle a problem as a team. He uses the analogy of a garden: one person can’t tend it alone. “Love is co-creation,” he says. This links back to self-love—you bring your full self, they bring theirs, and together you make something new.

How do you start? King suggests a shift: stop waiting for the other person to lead. Take a step—say what you need, ask what they want. He tried this once, breaking a silence with a simple “How can I support you?” It opened a door he didn’t expect. Effort doesn’t mean fixing everything; it means showing you’re in it. Over time, those steps compound.

This chapter builds on what’s come before. You’re the source, myths are traps, self-love is your fuel—and now, effort is your action. King’s not promising effortless romance; he’s offering something better: a connection you craft, not one you stumble into. It’s work, sure—but it’s work that pays off.

Chapter 5: Boundaries Build Trust and Intimacy

You might think boundaries sound cold—like walls that keep people out. Vex King flips that idea on its head in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*. He says boundaries aren’t barriers; they’re bridges. They don’t push love away—they make it stronger, safer, and more real. Without them, you risk losing yourself in someone else’s needs or letting resentment creep in. King argues that setting limits is how you protect what matters most, building trust and intimacy that can’t thrive in chaos.

What Boundaries Really Are

First, let’s get clear. Boundaries aren’t about control or punishment—they’re about clarity. King defines them as “lines you draw to honor your peace and respect theirs.” It’s saying yes to what works for you and no to what doesn’t. Maybe it’s needing an hour alone after work or asking a friend not to call past midnight. These aren’t selfish—they’re honest. King writes, “Boundaries show you value yourself enough to show up fully for others.”

He opens up about his own lesson here. Early on, he’d say yes to everything—late nights, draining favors—until he was a shell. People pleased became his default, but it bred bitterness. When he started setting limits, some pushed back, but the real ones stayed. That’s the first takeaway

boundaries sift out who’s here for you versus who’s here for what you give.

The Trust Connection

Here’s where it gets powerful. Boundaries create trust. When you’re upfront about your needs, you signal reliability—people know where they stand. King uses a simple example: if you tell a partner you need space to recharge, and they respect it, you both win. You’re not guessing their limits or tiptoeing around yours. “Trust grows when no one’s pretending,” he says. It’s a contract of mutual respect.

Studies back this up—relationships with clear boundaries report higher satisfaction and lower conflict. Why? Because ambiguity breeds tension. King saw it firsthand: a friend kept overstepping, borrowing money without asking twice. When he finally said no, the dynamic shifted—awkward at first, but then honest. Trust isn’t built on blind yeses; it’s built on knowing the rules of the game.

Intimacy’s Secret Ingredient

Now, intimacy. You’d think letting someone in fully—no limits—would deepen your bond. King disagrees. “Real closeness needs space to breathe,” he argues. Without boundaries, you merge too much—losing the “you” that made the connection special. He tells of a couple he knew: one partner gave up hobbies, friends, everything, to be “all in.” It suffocated them both. Boundaries—time apart, separate interests—brought them back.

This ties to effort from the last chapter. You work to maintain yourself, not just the relationship. King shares his own shift: he’d lose himself in romance, mirroring his partner’s every move. Setting boundaries—like keeping his morning routine—kept him grounded. Intimacy grew because he brought a whole person to the table, not a shadow. Research agrees: couples who balance independence and togetherness feel closer long-term.

How to Set Them

Okay, but how? King keeps it practical. Start by noticing where you feel stretched—maybe you’re always on call for a friend’s drama or a partner’s moods. Then decide what’s fair. He suggests a script: “I love being there for you, but I need this to work for me too.” It’s firm, kind, clear. Practice it. He did—telling a loved one he couldn’t fix their every crisis. They adjusted, and the bond held.

Next, hold the line. People test boundaries—it’s human. King warns against caving: “If you fold, you teach them your limits don’t matter.” He learned this when he let a yes slip after a no—confusion followed. Consistency is key. And don’t apologize for it. “Your needs aren’t a burden,” he insists. This links back to self-love—you’re worth protecting.

The Payoff

What do you get? Freedom. Boundaries let you love without drowning. King paints the picture: a relationship where you’re both clear on what’s okay, where you’re safe to be real. No resentment festers because you’ve said what you mean. He recalls a moment of relief—setting a boundary with a partner and feeling closer, not distant. It’s counterintuitive but true: limits pull you together.

This chapter builds on everything so far. You’re the source, myths mislead, self-love fuels you, effort sustains you—and now boundaries guard you. King’s showing you how to love without losing yourself. It’s not about less connection—it’s about better connection, rooted in respect.

Chapter 6: Relationships Evolve—and So Must You

You might imagine love as a straight line—meet someone, fall deep, and stay there forever. Vex King shakes that notion loose in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*. Relationships don’t stand still, he says—they shift, stretch, and sometimes crack. And that’s not a flaw; it’s a feature. The real trick isn’t holding them static; it’s growing with them. King argues that if you don’t evolve alongside your connections, you’ll either cling to a past that’s gone or miss the beauty of what they’re becoming.

Change Is Inevitable

Here’s the starting point

nothing stays the same. You change—your dreams, your quirks, your edges. So do they. King writes, “A relationship is two people on parallel journeys, not a single road.” He learned this watching his own bonds shift—friends who drifted as priorities flipped, a romance that morphed when careers took off. At first, he fought it, chasing the old vibe. Then he saw: resisting change just breeds friction.

Science nods along—studies show long-term relationships thrive when partners adapt to each other’s growth, not when they lock in old patterns. King shares a friend’s story: married young, they hit a wall when one chased a new passion and the other stayed put. Divorce loomed—until they chose to renegotiate, not retreat. Change isn’t the enemy; stagnation is.

The Growth Dance

So how do you move with it? King calls it a dance—sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow, but you’re always in step. “Evolution asks you to listen,” he says. Maybe your partner’s quieter now, or your friend’s chasing a dream you don’t get. Instead of judging, ask why. He recalls a time he didn’t—his partner’s new hustle felt like distance, and he took it personal. When he finally asked, he learned it was ambition, not rejection. Curiosity saved them.

This builds on effort—you don’t just show up; you show up ready to adjust. King suggests checking in: “How’s this working for us?” It’s not a nag—it’s a pulse. Couples who do this, research shows, navigate transitions better—new jobs, kids, moves. You’re not rewriting the rulebook daily, just tweaking it as you go.

Letting Go of the Old You

Here’s the harder part: evolving means shedding. You’ve got to ditch the version of yourself that doesn’t fit anymore. King admits this stung—he clung to being the “fun one” in a group, even when life demanded more depth. “You can’t grow if you’re stuck playing a role,” he writes. Same goes for them—don’t box your partner into who they were at 20 when they’re pushing 30. It’s a trap that smothers.

He tells of a couple who split because one couldn’t let go—she wanted the wild days back, he wanted stability. The lesson? Love them as they are, not as they were. This ties to boundaries—give space for their evolution, and claim yours. King did it, stepping back from a friend whose path veered hard. They reconnected later, different but stronger.

Embracing the New

Change isn’t just loss—it’s gain. King paints it bright: every shift is a chance to rediscover each other. “A relationship that evolves keeps unfolding,” he says. Maybe you find new rituals—coffee dates turn into hikes—or new depths, like talks that cut deeper. He shares a personal win: a bond that faded reignited when he leaned into their new rhythm, not the old one. It’s not about forcing it; it’s about flowing with it.

Data backs the upside—couples who embrace change report more excitement and resilience. King’s practical tip? Celebrate the shifts. Mark a new job with a toast, not a sigh. It rewires you to see evolution as progress, not threat. You’re building something alive, not a museum piece.

The Courage to Adapt

It takes guts, though. Evolving means risk—what if you grow apart? King doesn’t dodge it: sometimes you do. But “apart” isn’t failure if it’s honest. He reflects on a breakup that hurt but freed them both—they’d outgrown the fit. More often, adapting keeps you close. “Love that lasts bends,” he insists. This links to self-love—you’ve got to trust yourself to handle the turns.

King leaves you with this: relationships mirror life—messy, moving, real. You’ve got the tools now—your source, your effort, your boundaries. Evolution just asks you to use them as the ground shifts. It’s not about clinging; it’s about dancing through.

Chapter 7: Healing Unlocks Deeper Love

You’ve probably sensed it—those quiet aches or old scars that flare up when someone gets too close. Vex King digs into this in *Things No One Taught Us About Love*, insisting that healing isn’t optional if you want love that lasts. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about facing what’s broken so it doesn’t sabotage what’s good. King argues that unresolved pain—whether from childhood, past relationships, or your own mistakes—clouds your ability to connect. Heal that, and you unlock a depth you didn’t know waspossible.

The Weight of Old Wounds

Start here

you carry stuff. Maybe it’s a parent’s rejection, a betrayal that still stings, or guilt you can’t shake. King says these aren’t just memories—they’re filters. “Unhealed wounds color how you see love,” he writes. You might push people away, expecting them to leave, or cling too tight, fearing they will. He’s been there—doubting every kind word because his past taught him love comes with a catch.

He shares a stark moment: a relationship tanked because he couldn’t trust, not because she wasn’t trustworthy. The problem wasn’t her—it was him, lugging old baggage. Studies nod along—unresolved trauma often fuels patterns like avoidance or anxiety in relationships. King’s point? You don’t see the person in front of you; you see the ghosts behind them until you deal with it.

Healing Isn’t Fixing

Now, don’t panic—healing doesn’t mean erasing the past or becoming flawless. King frames it as “making peace.” “You don’t fix yourself,” he says, “you free yourself.” It’s less about solving every hurt and more about loosening its grip. He tried the hard way—burying pain, pretending it didn’t matter. It leaked out anyway—snaps at loved ones, walls up high. Peace came when he stopped running.

This ties to self-love from earlier. You can’t fully value yourself if you’re dodging what hurts. King recalls a breakthrough: sitting with a journal, writing out a childhood wound—his dad’s absence. No magic fix, just honesty. Over time, he stopped blaming himself. That shift? It let him love without a flinch. Research agrees—self-compassion, a healing cousin, boosts relationship resilience.

The Ripple to Others

Here’s the kicker: your healing doesn’t just help you—it transforms how you love. King paints it clear: “When you’re whole, you don’t need them to be your savior.” You show up lighter, less desperate. He saw it in a friend—years of therapy turned her from a pleaser to a partner. She stopped bending for approval; her relationships deepened. Why? She wasn’t dumping her pain on them anymore.

King connects this to effort and boundaries. Healing fuels the work—your energy’s not tied up in old fights. It sharpens your limits—you say no without guilt because you’ve settled your worth. He shares a win: post-healing, he could hear criticism without crumbling. That steadiness? It’s gold for intimacy. Data backs it—couples where both heal past hurts report less conflict, more closeness.

How to Start

So, how do you heal? King keeps it real—no quick fixes, just steps. First, name it. What’s the ache? Maybe it’s a breakup you never grieved or shame you’ve hauled too long. He suggests talking—to a friend, a pro, even yourself in a mirror. He did—voicing a fear of abandonment. It felt silly, then freeing. Second, feel it. “You can’t heal what you won’t face,” he warns. Cry, rage, sit with it.

Third, release it. King’s not preaching forgiveness clichés—sometimes it’s just letting go of the story. He burned a letter once, symbolic but effective. Therapy’s an option—studies show it cuts relationship stress by tackling root pain. Or try small acts: a walk to clear your head, a mantra like “I’m enough.” King built a habit—daily reflection—and watched his triggers fade.

The Deeper Love Waiting

What’s on the other side? Love that’s raw and real. King describes it: “Healing strips the armor—you’re vulnerable, but strong.” You trust easier, fight fairer, love fuller. He felt it—a bond grew deeper when he stopped projecting old fears. It’s not that pain vanishes; it’s that it stops driving. This builds on evolution—relationships shift, and healing keeps you flexible, not brittle.

King’s handing you a key here. You’ve got the source, the myths busted, the effort, the boundaries—now heal, and watch love open up. It’s work, but it’s the kind that sets you free.

Chapter 8: Love Is a Practice, Not a Destination

You’ve been chasing love like it’s a finish line—find the right person, feel the right things, and you’re done. Vex King wraps up *Things No One Taught Us About Love* by flipping that script

love isn’t a place you arrive at; it’s a skill you hone. Every day, every choice, every stumble—it’s all part of the practice. King argues that seeing love this way doesn’t dim its magic; it makes it richer, more yours. You’re not waiting for perfection; you’re building it, step by step.

Rethinking the Endgame

First, let go of the goalpost. “Love isn’t a prize you win,” King writes, “it’s a craft you refine.” You’ve been sold this idea—maybe from movies or your own hopes—that love locks in once you hit some milestone: a ring, a decade, a feeling that never fades. But King’s seen it, and you have too: even the best relationships shift. He recalls thinking he’d “made it” in a romance—until life tested it. The truth hit: there’s no done, just doing.

This echoes everything he’s built so far. You’re the source—so it starts with you, not a finish line. Myths mislead—there’s no static bliss. Effort, boundaries, evolution, healing—they’re not steps to an end; they’re the rhythm of the dance. Studies align here: lasting love correlates with ongoing growth, not a fixed state. King’s point? Stop aiming for “there” and start living “here.”

The Daily Craft

So what’s the practice? It’s showing up—messy, human, real. King breaks it down: some days you choose patience when you’re pissed. Others, you risk a hard talk over silence. “Love is in the unglamorous moments,” he says. He shares a quiet win—sticking by a friend through their spiral, not because it felt good, but because it mattered. That’s the craft: small acts stacking into something big.

This builds on effort—it’s not sporadic; it’s steady. Think of it like a muscle—use it, and it grows. King suggests a habit: pause daily and ask, “How did I love today?” Maybe you listened, forgave, or just stayed present. He did this—tracked his own moves—and saw patterns shift. Data backs the payoff: consistent care—communication, kindness—beats grand gestures for long-term bonds.

Embracing the Mess

Here’s the grit: practice means mistakes. You’ll snap, withdraw, misstep. King says that’s not failure—it’s fuel. “Love deepens when you learn from the cracks,” he writes. He fumbled once—shut down during a fight, regretted it. Next time, he owned it, talked it out. Growth came from the miss, not the make. This ties to healing—your scars teach you how to love better, not less.

You see it in life: the strongest couples aren’t flawless—they’re forgiving. King points to his parents’ friends—decades together, not because they never fought, but because they kept practicing. Research agrees—resilience, not perfection, predicts relationship success. So when you mess up, don’t run—reflect. What’s the lesson? That’s your next move.

The Bigger Picture

Zoom out, and it’s not just about romance. King widens the lens: love’s a practice with everyone—friends, family, yourself. “Every connection is a chance to get better at it,” he says. He learned this late—focused on partners, neglected pals. When he started tending all his ties, life felt fuller. Self-love fits here too—it’s the root practice, feeding every branch.

How do you keep it going? King’s practical: stay curious—about them, about you. Celebrate wins—a good day, a kind word. And rest—practice isn’t burnout. He shares his rhythm now—moments of effort, moments of ease. It’s sustainable, not exhausting. Studies show this balance—engagement plus recovery—keeps love alive.

The Gift of Practice

What do you gain? Freedom. Love as a practice unshackles you from chasing “enough.” King paints it vivid: “You’re not proving anything—you’re living it.” No more waiting for the fairy tale—you’re writing your own story. He felt it—a shift from seeking to savoring. Relationships became less about filling gaps and more about sharing space.

This is the synthesis: you hold the power (source), ditch the illusions (myths), fuel up (self-love), work at it (effort), guard it (boundaries), roll with it (evolution), mend it (healing), and keep at it (practice). King’s not leaving you with a map to utopia—he’s giving you tools for the real world. Love’s a verb, not a trophy. Pick it up, and run with it.