A love that taught me to choose myself

Between the waves, the hush, and an endless swirl of thoughts.

Dearest,

I know this wasn’t simple.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Months turn into years. And yet… some things never truly change. That name drifts into your mind, or a memory flashes by, and suddenly your chest tightens with a familiar, inexplicable weight. The world seems to hush for a heartbeat, and you feel it all over again.

And yet, you thought you had moved on. You thought you had healed. You thought those moments no longer held power over you. But here they are, finding a way back—uninvited, yet achingly familiar.

It’s not weakness, my love. It’s proof that what we felt leaves marks that time alone cannot erase. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s simply part of being alive—and human.

You were the way you were—and even now, you don’t fully understand why. Looking back, you might wonder if you could have walked away in days or at least after a few months. But something kept you there. Something deeper than reason. 

Maybe it was love. Maybe attachment. Maybe… karma.

You’ve asked yourself over and over, "Why didn’t I leave when I saw the signs?" But the heart doesn’t follow logic. It wants what it wants. It lingers where things feel unfinished, even when the mind is ready to go. 

A part of you kept hoping, kept waiting—for something to shift, for him to meet you halfway, for the story to find a different ending.

Hope draws toward what it anticipates, doesn’t it?

But maybe, my love, it was never really about him. Maybe it was always about you—about a lesson your soul needed to live through. 

You stayed because something in you needed to. Whether it was for growth, for healing, or for closure… the understanding will come in its own time. 

All I can say is this: you stayed long after it made sense. Not because you were weak, but because you were searching for meaning in the mess. And that—right there—that searching, that holding on, that hope—that was your strength. 

Because sometimes, that’s how we learn who we truly are—and who we are becoming.

You didn’t stay because everything was perfect—you stayed because you hoped. Deep down, you knew he was only ever halfway in. 

You felt it in the silences, in everything left unsaid. And still, you stayed. Not out of naivety, but because something in you whispered: maybe, just maybe, this could still turn.

You weren’t blind—you saw the truth. But your heart is rebellious. It dares to hope, even in places where love struggles to survive. You didn’t fully leap because you sensed the foundation wasn’t steady. 

But you kept showing up—one foot in, breath held—because that’s who you are: someone who believes, even when it hurts.

You thought: If I love him enough, if I stay long enough, he’ll meet me there. That kind of hope is rare. Brave. And yes, complicated—but so is any heart that dares to love without certainty.

You weren’t foolish. You were courageous in your own way. You chose to believe—and that matters.

I know how deeply you loved. 

How long you waited with faith—the kind that holds on even when there’s no promise. You nurtured a love you hoped could grow into something beautiful. 

You stayed through the grey days, through the silences. Not because it was easy, but because you loved fully, without condition.

You carry a rare kind of loyalty—the kind that sees not just what is, but what could be. 

For years, you gave without keeping score. You hoped without demanding answers. Even when your soul whispered that the cost was becoming too heavy, you stayed.

But love—real love—is a meeting point. Not just of two people, but of two equal energies. When that meeting doesn’t happen, cracks appear. Not because you loved too much, but because love has to be met.

You thought: If I’m patient enough, if I love him through this, he’ll understand me. Maybe he’ll even understand himself. That belief is beautiful. But it’s exhausting too.

Because real love isn’t about fixing or waiting. It’s about being seen—fully, gently—for who you are. It’s about being met where you stand. Not being asked to shrink or wait in silence.

You stayed because your love was honest. Because you believed. That’s not weakness—that’s strength.

Yes, it hurts—in ways words can barely capture. But pain is a teacher. You weren’t wrong for trying. You were simply true to your heart. And even in this ending—especially in this ending—you’ve become more of yourself.

This wasn’t a lesson in how to love better. You already loved beautifully. This was about learning to love yourself with the same depth. About knowing when something is no longer yours to carry.

Your love shaped you—softened some parts, strengthened others. It wasn’t forever, but it wasn’t wasted. 

It prepared you for a love that doesn’t make you wait—for someone who meets your energy, honours your clarity, and cherishes your depth.

Letting go doesn’t mean you didn’t care. It means you care enough now to choose peace. To choose alignment. To choose yourself.

Walk forward—not bitter, but wiser. Not closed, but clearer. You are not less for having loved like this—you are more. Because now, you know what love should feel like. 

And more importantly, what it should never ask of you.

Loving someone harder never changes them the way you hope—and by the time you realise it, it’s often too late. Perhaps that very truth is the closure your heart has been waiting for!

Be careful what you let in; the more nonsense you tolerate, the more it finds its way to you. 

Let your boundaries be stronger than your empathy, for sometimes the kindest act is guarding your heart while still feeling deeply.

Boundaries aren’t walls—they’re your declarations of worth, guiding others on how to meet you, and reminding your heart that it deserves respect.

You’re stepping into a new chapter—not as someone who lost, but as someone who finally chose herself.

Forever cradling you in tenderness,
Self