The One I’d Find in Every Lifetime
I’ve found it profoundly difficult to explain the familiarity in my bones—
that quiet, ancient knowing —
that I’ve found the person my soul has been searching for this lifetime.
Not in chaos.
Not in butterflies.
Not in the addiction I craved disguised as passion.
But in the peace.
And I know some will say, “Oh, I’ve heard this before”.
Because yes — I have tried before.
And if we are being honest?
It was a travesty in every direction I looked.
I mistook survival for devotion.
Anxiety for chemistry. Inconsistency for mystery.
And not once—not once— it my past relationships was I ever put first without having to sacrifice myself in order to prove I was worthy of that so-called love.
I shrank.
I negotiated my needs.
I swallowed my standards.
I said “I love you” in accidental, sideways ways, hoping they’d say it first so I wouldn’t feel foolish.
I fought for attention like it was something to be earned.
When I was married there were a multitude of women involved who played friend to my face while fucking my husband behind my back.
Sometimes the third party was alcohol. Ego. Unresolved trauma.
Their own self-hatred.
Sometimes I wasn’t competing with a person — I was competing with their demons.
And it took me a long time to learn you cannot win against someone who refuses to heal.
You cannot keep assisting misery and calling it love.
You cannot keep negotiating with gas-lighting narcissism like it’s a personality quirk.
When someone is that fucking unhappy in their own life, they will twist your reality just to avoid facing themselves. And even when you offer help — real help — they’d rather sit there whining like a infant still rooting for his mother’s tit than take accountability for the wreckage they create.
My point is, what I thought was love before simply wasn’t.
Trying to dress up trauma bonding isn’t romantic.
Because love — real love — doesn’t make you feel like you are auditioning.
Love is including them in decisions because you value their presence in your life — not because you’re obligated, but because you want their voice woven into yours.
Love is communication. Not just “good morning” texts and heart emojis.
Love is checking in.
Love is remembering.
Love is saying, “I see you. I hear you. You matter to me.”
And not just with words — but with consistent action.
Love is never wanting to see them emotionally troubled.
It’s creating a home — not just a house — where peace lives.
It’s ensuring that when they walk through that front door, what they receive is softness.
Safety. Stability.
Not tension. Not suspicion. Not emotional warfare.
Love is protecting the energy of your relationship like it’s sacred.
It is never feeding attention to outside sources who try to diminish what you’ve built.
It is never entertaining flirtation that disrespects your partner.
It is never allowing external noise to become internal chaos.
Love is loyalty — not just physically, but energetically.
Love is choosing each other in rooms where neither of you are present.
Love is seeing the other person fully — flaws, scars, history, insecurities — and wanting nothing but their genuine happiness.
Not control.
Not possession.
Not leverage.
Just happiness.
Love doesn’t need to be loud.
It doesn’t need to be proven publicly.
It doesn’t need to perform.
It doesn’t need to hurt to feel real.
Love should feel like a calm certainty.
Like not having to wonder where you stand.
Like not having to decode behavior.
Like someone who chooses you — daily — without you having to beg for it.
For the first time in my life, I am not chasing.
I am not convincing.
I am not competing.
I am not shrinking.
And that familiarity in my bones?
It’s not desperation or fantasy.
It’s recognition.
Because when a woman finally stops chasing chaos,
peace finds her.
And when peace finds you —
you don’t question it.
You protect it.
You nurture it.
And you thank God you survived everything that taught you what love is not —
so you could finally recognize what it is.
Until Next time …
If this hit somewhere tender —
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