Love, Chaos & Starting Again (Even When It Still Hurts Sometimes)
I once had a coach give me some pretty bad advice — advice that, in hindsight, felt more like projection than guidance. She told me that I would never find someone until I wasn’t lonely anymore.
I am so incredibly comfortable being on my own – but that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer to be with people (as long as they are the right ones). I see nothing wrong with wanting to have a partner. It’s okay to be okay being on your own and still want to share your life with someone.
And maybe I knew that even then, but I was too unsure of myself to push back.
I ignored my intuition. I overrode my own feelings.
I chose distraction over truth.
I guess I’ve always been a romantic — a dreamer who believes in soul-level love.
The kind of love that wraps you up like a warm blanket on a summer night, the kind that feels like a nap with the windows open, waves crashing just outside, and someone’s arms holding you close.
I feel everything more deeply in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the fireflies and late-night porch talks. Maybe it’s that summer reminds me how much I want to share my life with someone — but really share it.
In my last relationship, I spent so much time on my own.
Not the nourishing, restorative kind of solitude — but the kind where I was inventing things to do so I wouldn’t have to sit with the truth: I was lonely.
And I didn’t want to be.
It was all so clear. But I stayed anyway.
Because when you’re used to chaos, stillness feels dangerous.
And when you’ve gone without love for a long time, even crumbs can look like a meal.
But that chapter is closed now.
I’m not entertaining anything that doesn’t feel like safety and soul.
For years, married friends told me, “You’ll never find it — that kind of love doesn’t exist.”
They meant well. But they were wrong.
Because I see it. Every day. In the small gestures. In the way people show up for one another.
And more than that — I believe in it.
I believe in a love that meets me fully.
I believe I’m worthy of that kind of love.
I believe I’m ready for it now.
I release what was never mine.
My heart is ready to begin again — this time, in truth.
I trust that what I’ve planted is growing, even if I can’t see it yet.
I am open to receiving love, abundance, and joy in surprising ways.
I release fear. I welcome flow.
The other day, my daughter Evelyn pointed to a little mark on her leg and said,
“This is my favorite birthmark.” I couldn’t hide the smile from my face.
When I asked her why, she simply said:
“Because it’s cute on me.”
It was such a simple moment, but it stopped me in my tracks.
That is love. That is innate self-worth.
Motherhood has taught me more lessons about myself that I ever knew existed, and raising Evelyn has been a long stare into the mirror for a long time.
What if we all loved ourselves that freely? What if we believed we were cute just because we are?
And still — the other day was hard.
It would have been my 23rd wedding anniversary.
And ironically, I spent the day out with someone and had one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. It felt easy, joyful, connected.
But I came home to destruction.
My dog had ripped apart the door between the kitchen and garage, and in an instant, the joy of the day was gone.
I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and raging inside.
Why does it always fall on me?
Why am I the one holding the pieces?
Why does my ex get to live a new life — uninterrupted — while I’m managing everything on my own?
I felt resentful.
And it hurt, not just because of the door.
But because I let myself have a good day. And it still got swallowed up by responsibility.
Six years into this solo season, and some days still sting.
There’s still grief. There’s still longing.
But there’s also resilience.
There’s healing.
There’s clarity.
And there’s a woman — me — who is choosing reciprocal relationships from now on.
Choosing herself.
Choosing joy. Even if it’s fleeting.
Choosing to believe in love. Even when it’s hard.
This isn’t a pretty bow kind of blog post.
It’s not the part where I say, “And now everything is perfect.”
It’s just the truth.
It’s real.
It’s me — showing up anyway.
Still open. Still healing. Still hopeful.
Because love — real love — is the highest frequency.
And I’m not done believing in it yet.
XO
Laura
