View this post on Instagram

 

For years, I chased love like it was the missing piece of me.

I thought if I could be perfect enough, giving enough, or patient enough, someone would choose me, and I’d finally feel whole. But here’s the truth I’ve come to learn: no one else can make us whole. We’re already whole—we just forget.

This is the story of how I stopped chasing and turned inward, discovering that everything I was searching for had been within me all along.

A Glimpse into the Shadows

The first step on this journey wasn’t beautiful. It came after heartbreak—a relationship that unraveled, leaving me questioning everything. I had stayed too long, given too much, and ignored the quiet whispers of my own heart. When it ended, I was left with a deafening silence and one unavoidable truth: I had abandoned myself in the name of love.

This is what led me to shadow work, though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. Shadow work is the process of meeting the parts of ourselves we’ve hidden—the fears, the wounds, the anger we’ve exiled because we thought they were too much or not enough. Carl Jung described the shadow as the unconscious parts of us that shape our lives in unseen ways.

For me, the shadows showed up as the part of me that was terrified of being alone. The part that believed love meant proving my worth through sacrifice. The part that told me my needs were too big to be met. Sitting with these shadows wasn’t easy. At first, they felt like strangers. But as I listened, I began to understand—they weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to protect me, in the only way they knew how.

Slowly, I began to speak to these parts of myself with compassion instead of judgment. I’d tell the scared part of me, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” And in doing so, I started to reclaim the pieces of myself I had long rejected.

The Difference Between Love and Boundaries

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is this: love without boundaries isn’t love—it’s self-abandonment.

For years, I thought loving someone meant staying no matter what. I believed if I just endured more, bent more, gave more, they would see me, choose me, and love me in the way I craved. But that kind of love cost me my voice, my needs, and my sense of self.

Brené Brown says, “Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.” For me, setting boundaries felt terrifying at first. It meant risking rejection. It meant saying, “I deserve better,” even when it felt easier to stay silent. But every boundary I set was a step toward reclaiming my power and redefining what love looks like—for myself and others.

Embracing Singlehood at 35

For the first time in two decades, I’ve been single for (almost) an entire year.

At 35, this isn’t just a chapter of independence—it’s a homecoming.

For most of my life, I leaned on romantic relationships to help me regulate my emotions and give me a sense of purpose. But in 2024, I chose to step into singlehood fully. Living alone, waking up to silence, and facing myself without distraction felt uncomfortable at first. I had to confront the parts of me that longed for external validation.

But something shifted as I gave myself permission to just be. I started finding joy in small things—making coffee in the quiet morning light, moving through my day at my own rhythm, and building a life that feels good to me. This isn’t loneliness—it’s liberation.

Esther Perel describes interdependence as the balance between autonomy and connection. For me, it’s about recognizing that I’m whole on my own, and any relationship I welcome into my life now must honor that wholeness.

Returning to What Grounds Me

This year has also been a time of rediscovery. I found a yoga studio that feels like a sanctuary, a place where I can reconnect with my body and breath. I returned to meditation, not as a task but as a gift—a way to sit with myself and remember that peace is already within me.

Friendships have become my foundation. In the absence of romantic entanglements, I’ve leaned on the people who see me, celebrate me, and remind me that love exists in many forms. These connections have shown me that I don’t need a partner to feel held—I have a community that uplifts me.

In addition to personal healing, my professional life has also been a source of grounding and purpose. I work at a clinic dedicated to harm reduction and supporting individuals on their own path to recovery. My work at the clinic has also been a profound anchor. Helping others reminds me that healing isn’t just personal—it’s collective. This role has deepened my understanding of compassion, resilience, and the shared nature of healing.

Letting Go of the Noise

Another significant step in my journey toward wholeness was removing myself from social media. For years, I found myself scrolling through curated snapshots of other people’s lives, unconsciously comparing their highlights to my behind-the-scenes struggles. Social media became a space where I sought connection but often left feeling more disconnected—from others and from myself. Stepping away from it felt radical at first, like I was cutting myself off from the world. But over time, I realized I wasn’t losing anything—I was gaining presence. Without the constant noise, I could hear my own thoughts more clearly. I could focus on the relationships in front of me, the work that mattered, and the stillness I’d long avoided. In that quiet, I found a deeper connection to myself, unfiltered and real.

The Portal of Wholeness

The greatest lesson I’ve learned is this: wholeness isn’t something you find in another person. It’s not a destination or a prize. Wholeness is the quiet, steady knowing that you are enough, just as you are.

I once had a vision of a grid—a web connecting every heart, every timeline, every fragment of who we are. I realized that healing myself wasn’t just for me—it rippled outward, touching every relationship I’ve ever had and every version of myself.

When we stop searching for love outside ourselves, we become it. And that love—grounded, boundaried, and whole—has the power to transform not just our lives but the lives of everyone we touch.

An Invitation

If you’ve been searching for love, peace, or clarity, I invite you to pause. Turn inward. Sit with the parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding and whisper, “You belong here.”

You are not broken. You are not incomplete. You are whole, right here, right now.

The doorway to wholeness isn’t out there—it’s within you. All you have to do is step through.

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~ Anais Nin

References

Carl Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious

Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Pia Mellody, Facing Codependence

Esther Perel, The State of Affairs

~