Not Everyone Will Have Your Heart — And That’s Okay

On staying open, getting hurt, and choosing to go all in anyway.

There’s a piece of advice I’ve carried with me since I was a girl — something a teacher said to me that I’ve never been able to fully put down.

“You’re going to be awfully disappointed if you keep going through life expecting people to have the same heart you do.”

She wasn’t being cruel. She was being honest. And if I’m being honest too? She wasn’t wrong.

I’ve been disappointed. More times than I can count, by people I loved, trusted, and showed up for completely. Friends. Partners. Colleagues. People I went all in for — no reservations, no fine print — who didn’t meet me there.

And every single time, somewhere in the wreckage, I’d hear her voice again.

The Advice I Never Fully Took

Here’s the thing about wisdom: receiving it and living it are two entirely different practices.

In yoga, we talk about this all the time. You can understand a pose conceptually — the alignment, the breath, the intention — but until your body has moved through it, until you’ve wobbled and caught yourself and tried again, it’s just words. The knowing lives in the doing.

This advice has been my hardest pose.

I understood it. I even believed it. But putting it into action? That required a kind of strength I had to grow into slowly, imperfectly, and honestly — I’m still growing into it now.

Because here’s what I didn’t want to hear when she said it: I didn’t want it to mean stop caring so much. I didn’t want it to mean lower your expectations or protect yourself by pulling back. I didn’t want it to mean become less.

And I don’t think it does.

What I Actually Believe

I believe the world is inherently good. Misguided at times, distracted, afraid, caught up in its own noise — but good at the root. I believe most people are doing their best with what they have, even when their best falls painfully short of what we needed from them.

And I believe that going all in — on jobs, on relationships, on friendships, on the people you love — is not a flaw. It is a gift. It is the fullest expression of who you are.

I wouldn’t change a single thing about how I show up. Not one.

But the advice was right about this: not everyone is capable of meeting you in that space. Not because they’re bad people. Not because you weren’t worth it. But because their capacity — at this moment, in this season of their life — is different from yours.

That’s not failure. That’s just reality.

And reality is where we practice.

The Pose Nobody Teaches You

In yoga, we practice something called equanimity — the ability to remain steady, open, and present no matter what arises. Not numb. Not detached. Steady.

It’s not about feeling less. It’s about having the capacity to feel fully and still find your footing.

That’s what I think my teacher was pointing me toward, even if she didn’t frame it that way. Not expect less from people. But build the inner strength to absorb the disappointment when it comes — and choose, consciously, to stay open anyway.

That’s the harder practice. That’s the real work.

It means when someone doesn’t show up the way you needed them to, you get to say — quietly, firmly, without bitterness — I guess not this time. And then you exhale. And you return to yourself. And you go on believing in people until they prove you wrong.

It means you don’t let a few closed hearts convince you the world is cold.

What I Want for You — and for All of Us

I want the world to step up. I want people to care more, try harder, be more intentional about how they treat one another. I want us all to be a little more like the people in our lives who go all in — who love without a ceiling, who show up even when it’s inconvenient, who hold space for others the way they’d want to be held.

That’s not naivete. That’s a standard worth holding.

But while we’re waiting for the world to rise — and it will, unevenly, slowly, messily — we also have to get stronger in the moments when it doesn’t.

Stronger doesn’t mean harder. It doesn’t mean cynical. It doesn’t mean building walls.

It means coming back to your mat when you’ve fallen. It means breathing through the disappointment instead of collapsing inside it. It means trusting that your open heart is the right heart, even on the days it gets broken.

Three Things I’m Practicing

If this resonates with you — if you’ve been let down by people you expected more from, or if you’ve let someone down and carry the weight of that — here’s where I keep returning:

1. Name it without a story.

When disappointment hits, just name what happened. They didn’t show up. That hurt. Leave the story — the why, the what it means about them or you — for later, or not at all. You don’t have to assign meaning to every wound the moment you receive it.

2. Return to your own integrity.

One of the most grounding questions I’ve found: Did I show up the way I wanted to? If the answer is yes, then something important stays intact, no matter what the other person did. Your character doesn’t depend on theirs.

3. Stay open anyway — but wisely.

Staying open doesn’t mean being boundaryless. It means continuing to believe in people while also noticing, clearly and without drama, who has the capacity to meet you and who doesn’t. You can love someone and still limit access. You can hope for people and still make choices that protect your peace.

The Advice, Rewritten

I still hear my teacher’s voice. But here’s how I’ve come to carry it:

Yes — not everyone will have your heart. Some people will disappoint you in ways that take your breath away. And you are going to go all in anyway. Because that’s who you are. And when it doesn’t go the way you hoped, you are going to say “not this time,” find your feet, and keep going.

You are going to be okay.

And the world — because of people like you — is going to be a little more okay too.

Karin is a yoga teacher and wellness writer focused on the intersection of movement, mindfulness, and the messy, beautiful work of living fully. If this post moved you, share it with someone who needs to hear it today.