I’ve always felt different—like a note slightly off-key in a song everyone else seems to know. From the moment I could feel the world around me, I could feel everything. The joy, the pain, the weight of every emotion in the room. I was an empath, absorbing others’ feelings as if they were my own. The world was too loud, too overwhelming. It was like everyone else moved through life with ease, while I struggled to catch my breath.

So, I did what I thought I had to do to survive—I shrank. I hid. I dimmed my light. I starved myself—not just in body, but in presence. I erased parts of who I was, convinced that if I disappeared, I could escape the weight of everything I felt. Even when doctors warned me that I was dying, I wasn’t afraid. In fact, the thought of fading away felt strangely comforting. It was like a quiet relief, a way out of the storm inside me.

But that pattern didn’t end there. It followed me into adulthood, especially when it came to love. I began seeking out men who were everything I was not—thick-skinned, radiant, untouchable by emotions the way I was. They seemed to shine with an ease I envied. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I wasn’t just drawn to their brightness—I was searching for something I had lost in myself. I had spent so long dimming my own light, starving my own spirit, that I thought I could find it in someone else. I thought their shine could light my way back to me.

Then, I met him. He walked into a room and lit it up. He wasn’t just confident, he was magnetic—his presence filled every corner. He seemed unfazed by emotions, the way I had always been consumed by them. And in that, I found relief. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe again. Then one day, he saw me—and in that moment, I felt seen. For the first time in my life, I felt alive. His light became my light. And it felt like everything I had ever wanted.

But here's the truth I had to learn: love built on longing isn’t love. It’s hunger.

What started as a connection—deep, consuming—began to unravel. He was lost in his own chaos, consumed by his own struggles. And no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I starved myself emotionally, he couldn’t meet my needs in the ways I was starving for. Friends, family—everyone told me I deserved better. But I didn’t understand. This wasn’t about worth. It was about my unmet needs, my desperation to be seen.

When you’ve spent your whole life feeling invisible, the first person who sees you exactly as you are feels like oxygen, survival. But here’s the thing: you can’t live in someone else’s light. It’s fleeting. It’s not yours. I thought he could save me—until I realized that I was only standing in his glow, mistaking it for my own.

And that’s when I had to face the hardest truth: love doesn’t thrive on starvation. Love doesn’t survive on unmet needs. Love is not just about being seen—it’s about being heard, being held, and being valued. And when I finally understood that, I had to let go.

Letting go was terrifying. But in that surrender, I found something I had been searching for all along: my own light. The very thing I thought I had lost. The brightness I craved was never outside of me. It was always inside—waiting for me to remember. All those years of shrinking, of dimming, of silencing myself? They were layers I had placed between me and the truth of who I am.

I had spent my life running from my emotions, terrified they would drown me. But here’s what I discovered: my emotions are not my enemy. They are my compass. They are my guide back to myself. And when I stopped running, when I stopped abandoning myself, everything changed. My emotions are not too much. They are me. And when I allowed myself to feel them, to sit with them, I found my strength. I found my voice. I found my light.

And that light, it’s not just about being seen—it’s about shining, fully and unapologetically, in every room you walk into. It’s about standing in your own brilliance, even when no one else notices at first. The truth is, we don’t need to wait for someone else’s light to make us feel whole. We are already whole. And the moment we realize that, the moment we stop hiding, stop shrinking, stop dimming—our light doesn’t just shine, it radiates. It becomes a beacon, not just for ourselves, but for others too.

Maybe love isn’t something we search for outside of ourselves. Maybe love is the light we find within, when we finally stop abandoning who we are, and start embracing all the light we’ve been hiding. Because, in the end, the light we’ve been waiting for was never anyone else’s to give. It was always ours.

The Beauty in the Waiting

Do you ever feel like you're going to be single forever? Like every date you go on leaves you feeling more hopeless than before? Each disappointment slowly clouds the hope of finding the love you're looking for. Every failed connection feels like a personal failure.

You think about your ex and how easily they moved on. And you wonder—why is it that I, someone who deeply cares, who has healed, who tries to do the right thing, can't find the right relationship? Yet the people who hurt me seem to find love effortlessly. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel fair.

Eventually, you start asking, "Why me?" Why is this happening to me? Why does it feel like the harder I work on myself, the further I get from the love I deserve? You replay it over and over, questioning if there's something wrong with you. You start doubting yourself: "Maybe I'm too picky. Maybe I'm judging people too harshly. Maybe my intuition is off."

But then you give someone a chance, despite your doubts, and realize your intuition was right all along.

And you think about the people you believed would be something special, the ones who felt so right—but it never turned into anything. You wonder why. You ask, "What is this supposed to be teaching me?"

As a woman, the pressure to meet societal expectations—like the biological clock and rushing into relationships—can feel overwhelming. But eventually, something shifts. You realize that timeline wasn’t yours, and rushing only leads to settling, heartbreak, and unhappiness.

Now, being alone doesn’t scare me. I have meaningful connections and would rather be alone than with someone who isn’t healed or secure. I choose intentionality in everything, especially in relationships, because the one with my partner is too important to treat any differently.

If you're feeling this pressure, I promise, it fades. It stops taking up so much space in your mind. You start to unlearn the path you thought you had to follow, and you begin to see that the journey you're on might actually be better than you ever imagined.

Love doesn’t work on a schedule. Even if you have a plan, life might surprise you with something better than you expected.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that not settling has always led me to places beyond what I ever imagined. But that decision—to sit with fear, with uncertainty, to embrace the discomfort of being alone—is the harder choice. Yet there is beauty on the other side of that choice.

The waiting period isn’t empty; it’s full of growth. It’s your time to build love within yourself. Beneath the decision not to settle is the quiet, powerful belief: "I deserve better." And beneath that belief is the foundation of it all: "I love myself."

Settling says, "I don’t think I’m worthy of more." Not settling says, "I am strong enough to wait."

And you are. You always have been.

Awakening from the Trance of Unworthiness 

Have you ever felt like you weren’t enough? Like the way others treated you—neglect, rejection, indifference—somehow defined your worth? You learned to seek validation, measuring your value by how much someone else wanted you. And when they didn’t, it felt like proof that something was wrong with you.

You lowered your standards, made excuses, and kept trying—believing that if you were more patient, more understanding, you’d finally be chosen. But all it did was drain you, repeating the cycle and leaving you emptier each time.

But here’s the truth: This was never about you.

We aren’t born doubting our worth—we are taught to. If we grew up believing love had to be earned, that we were too much or not enough, that approval was conditional, we carried those beliefs as truth. But just as we learned we were unlovable, we can learn that we are worthy of love.

Hurt, rejection, and disappointment are emotions, not evidence of your worth. They pass through you, but they are not you.

One day, you’ll look back and realize your lowest moments weren’t proof of your inadequacy—they were survival. You were protecting yourself, trying to make sense of love that never felt safe. It was easier to believe something was wrong with you than to face the painful truth: that the people who were supposed to love you simply couldn’t. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they didn’t know how.

Now, you are free to let that go.

It’s time to wake up from the trance. To see the truth: Your worth is not up for debate. It cannot be given or taken away. It is unshakable. The love you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

When you embrace this, everything changes. You stop settling for less than you deserve. You stop mistaking pain for love. You stop waiting for validation and realize you were enough all along.

So wake up. You, and only you, decide your worth. And I promise—you’ve always had it. The love and light you’ve been searching for have always been inside you.

How do I know? Because I was once you. And if I could wake up, I know you can too.