Thank you for the opportunity to share my story. Your teachings have been life-changing for me. They guided me through one of the most emotional journeys of my life, helping me reconnect with someone I deeply care about and, in the process, rediscover my own power. I am honored to share my story with you.
SP entered my life at a pivotal moment. I had recently ended a four-year relationship with someone who was, by all accounts, a good boyfriend. He treated me well, but something deep in my soul kept telling me, He is not my husband. Leaving that relationship wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to follow my intuition, even if it meant starting over with very little.
When I met A, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Initially, our connection was meant to be casual—a hookup, nothing more. But from the very first night we spent together we knew there was something else there.
Afterward, we decided to grab Taco Bell, and instead of going our separate ways, we ended up sitting in his car in the parking lot, talking until 3AM. That night, we opened up to each other in ways I never anticipated. I shared details about my past relationship, the pain I’d experienced, and the things that had hurt me.
SP, in turn, shared his own story. He revealed that he’d been divorced for about a year after a 10-year marriage. His ex-wife had cheated on him while he was on deployment, a betrayal that left deep emotional scars. Hearing him share something so vulnerable created an instant bond between us. It felt like we were both holding space for each other’s pain, even as we barely knew one another.
At one point, he asked me, “Do you think that I can heal you?” I paused before responding, “No.”
But in hindsight, that night planted a seed. I didn’t know it at the time, but A was about to show me a side of love and kindness that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
About a week later, A invited me over to his place and planned an entire day of thoughtful surprises. He took me to get a massage, then out for sushi, and finally to Bath & Body Works, where he encouraged me to pick out what made me happy. I didn’t share this with him at the time, but I cried all the way home that night because I just couldn’t believe the kindess after everything I’ve been through. My grandma died, my uncle died, my dad went to prison for 10 years, i ended a 4 year relationship, and moved across the country all this happened in the span of 2 months.
When we met, I had just started over with almost nothing—just two boxes of clothes, a bed, my cat, and my dog. I didn’t even have a blanket for my bed. The thoughtfulness and care A showed me that day touched me so deeply because, without knowing it, he had given me something I desperately needed: kindness and validation.
From that point on, A continued to show up for me in ways I didn’t expect. He invited me over and cooked me dinner, listening attentively as I shared pieces of myself. He had this way of making me feel seen and cared for, and even though we weren’t in a relationship, it felt like we were building something meaningful.. Until he told me he wasn’t ready for me yet and he didn’t feel like he could give me what I needed. I devastated and I ended all contact.
After three months of no contact, A and I reconnected. He met me for dinner, and I opened up about how burnt out I felt from work, my boss, and everything going on in my life. I told him I felt like I was held together by a thread and didn’t know how I just kept going. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown.
He listened quietly before saying, “Let’s go on a trip.” He told me which days to take off work—just two weeks from that day—and started planning.
SP took me on a road trip to Washington, DC, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt peace. He planned the most romantic nighttime tour of the city, taking me to see the monuments illuminated in the moonlight. The serenity of the moment, the care he put into planning it, and the way I felt in his presence moved me to tears. I remember thinking, This is what I’ve been begging God/Universe/Source for: peace. And it was SP who brought it to me.
During that trip, there was a moment that stood out as a sign. While we were at our hotel, he DoorDashed food for us, and on the bag with his name was the number 555555. I knew in that moment it was a message—a powerful symbol of change and transformation. I took a picture of it as proof because I knew something significant was going to unfold.
But what I didn’t expect was how quickly things would shift. Three days into the trip, after everything had been perfect, A suddenly shut down. He became cold and distant, stonewalling me as if he didn’t want me around. Then he said the words that cut me deeply: “I’m not ready for a relationship. I can’t give you what you need. You should find someone else to be with.”
The rest of the trip, he said hurtful things that pushed me away. When we finally returned to his place, he told me he had too much going on in his life—his kids, being a single dad, the military, and co-parenting with his ex-wife. He told me not to speak to him again unless I wanted a hookup because that’s all he had the capacity to give me.
I packed up my bag, got in my car, and left. The pain was unbearable, and I felt like I couldn’t get through it alone.
That experience broke me open in ways I couldn’t ignore. I started therapy because I needed help navigating the pain and understanding my attachment style. Through therapy, I discovered that I too had avoidant tendencies, and that part of my longing for A was tied to my own unhealed wounds. From the Law of Assumption, I realized that if I wanted the depth I craved in a relationship, I had to heal the depth of my relationship with myself.
SP wasn’t just emotionally unavailable—he was mirroring my avoidance of myself. It was a wake-up call. I had spent so much time running from my own truths, my own fears, and the parts of me that desperately needed healing. It was time to stop avoiding and start the journey inward, facing the things within myself that I had been so afraid to confront.
That summer became a period of profound transformation. I spent months deep within, unraveling childhood traumas and understanding the roots of my emotional armor. I practiced vulnerability, learning to drop the masks I wore to protect myself and embracing what it meant to show up as my authentic self.
I started to understand the true meaning of commitment—not just in relationships but to myself. I committed to honoring my values, and I journaled extensively about each one, exploring why it mattered to me and how I could live by it every day. I wrote about authenticity, love, respect, and communication, not just as ideals but as guiding principles for how I wanted to show up in the world.
All of this inner work changed me. It resulted in me becoming someone I absolutely love and admire with a passion. For the first time, I felt a deep sense of pride in who I was. I became lighter, freer, and more grounded in my truth.
One of the most powerful practices I embraced was rewriting my narrative. I started journaling about the old stories I had told myself—the stories of unworthiness, fear, and pain. Then, I created new narratives, completely opposite from the old ones. I made a ritual of burning the old narratives, and each time I let one go, I could feel my soul getting lighter.
One day, during a lunch break, I sat in my car and wrote a new narrative about the relationship I wanted with A. As I finished, “My Love” by Justin Timberlake came on the radio. The timing felt like a sign, especially when I listened to the lyrics and realized that he was describing the Law of Assumption—manifesting the love he desired.
Later that same day, as I was driving home, I saw a property near my house that had just gone up for sale. The realtor’s name was A, and the last four digits of the phone number were 5555. I broke down in tears. It was the number from the bag.
The hardest part of my journey was letting go. That was the final step, and it challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. Stopping the obsessive thoughts was difficult, but I developed a practice to ground myself in the present moment. Whenever I caught myself spiraling, I would consciously redirect my focus.
• At the gym, I’d remind myself, “Right now, we’re just working out.”
• During classwork, I’d say, “Right now, we’re just studying.”
This practice, though simple, transformed my mental state. Over time, I stopped worrying and obsessing. Being present became a natural habit, and I found myself living fully in the moment without effort.
As time passed I didn’t forget about him, but my thoughts of him transformed. They became less of an overwhelming scream in my head and more of a low, warm hum in the background—something I noticed occasionally but no longer consumed me. Five months went by.
Then, on the exact day that marked five months of no contact, I heard from Andre. He reached out, and we saw each other the very next day. I invited him over to my house for the first time—something I had never done in the entire year we’d known each other.
When he arrived, I didn’t want to bring up the past or the pain. My only focus was reconnecting and being present with him.
We had a deep conversation that night. I explained to him, “I don’t allow men into my home, and I haven’t the entire time I’ve lived here. I told myself I wouldn’t unless that man was committed to me.” He responded, “You don’t have to keep out every person—it can just be people you feel like are worthy.”
I looked at him and said, “I know, and that is exactly what I am doing. That is just what it takes to be worthy. In dream interpretation, a house represents your soul, and when you let someone into your house, you’re letting someone into your soul. So, welcome.”
He stared at me deeply and said, “I feel like I’ve been in your soul.”
I replied, “You have been in my soul.”
In that moment, it was like the air shifted. He looked at me wide-eyed, almost stunned, like he couldn’t believe I knew what he had felt—and that I confirmed we had experienced the same thing.
It was surreal. I couldn’t believe that the deep, spiritual connection I had sensed was mutual. For once, I wasn’t on a spiritual journey alone. This was a journey I was taking with someone else—someone who understood it on the same level.
That night solidified something I had always hoped was true: this is what it feels like to share a journey with a soulmate. It’s real. It’s okay to believe in that. It’s okay to believe that you can have it.
Reflecting on this journey, I can’t help but think back to the night A and I first met. Sitting in his car in the Taco Bell parking lot, he asked me a question that felt almost too big at the time: “Do you think that I can heal you?” Without hesitation, I told him, “No.”
At the time, I didn’t believe anyone could. Healing felt like something I had to figure out on my own—a lonely path that only I could walk. And in many ways, I was right. The work I did on myself, the time I spent in therapy, and the lessons I learned through the Law of Assumption were all my own.
But what I didn’t realize that night was that healing doesn’t have to mean someone else doing the work for you. Sometimes, the right person comes into your life to act as a mirror, reflecting your unhealed wounds and showing you what’s possible when you open your heart. Andre did that for me. His presence, his tenderness, and even the pain he caused all pushed me toward becoming the version of myself that I am today—a version that I absolutely love and admire.
So, in a way, A did heal me—not by fixing me, but by showing me how to heal myself. And through it all, I learned that real love is never about what someone else can do for you; it’s about the person you become when you allow yourself to fully feel, fully grow, and fully trust in the magic of connection.
I’ve come full circle, and I know now that love—both for myself and for others—isn’t something you find; it’s something you create. And I will always be grateful for the part A played in helping me create it.