“Ah, this is what self-love feels like.”

Yesterday, something dropped in. A new layer of understanding self-love.

What it is—and what it isn’t.

A little backstory…

I recently met someone.
Someone I felt instantly connected to.
A familiarity I couldn’t explain.

Have you ever met someone and it feels like you’ve known them across lifetimes?
It’s almost unsettling how natural it is.

That kind of connection pulls you in.
It walks you right up to the edge—between total overwhelm and the strange, soft safety of recognition.

And I found myself wondering:

Is this past life stuff?
Karmic?
A mirror?
A loop I’m finally meant to break?
Something I’m here to outgrow?

I still don’t know.
I cannot know.

But I’d catch myself thinking that I must be missing something.
That there had to be a catch.

I’d also hear him say again and again, “This feels too good to be true.”
As if goodness must always come with a price.

Our doubts weren’t really about each other.
They were old defenses—
Protective layers whispering: don’t trust what feels this good.
Because the body remembers.
It remembers the ache of not being chosen. Of not having needs met.
Of closeness turning into pain.

And it’s only natural to be scared when something feels this close, this real.

But this time, instead of collapsing into doubt,
I stayed open.

I let the whole thing move through me—whatever it was.
I didn’t try to define it.
I didn’t perform for it.
I simply stayed with it.

The old invitations showed up too.
Not from him—but from my own history.
From the parts of me that used to think love meant:
— not rocking the boat
— keeping the peace, even if it meant quieting my truth
— holding discomfort so no one else had to
— staying silent when something felt off
— making myself small to be more palatable

And then came the moment.
A small rupture.
The kind that once would’ve kept me quiet.
That used to pull me straight into people-pleasing.
Into trying to rescue it all.

But I didn’t.
I didn’t shrink.
I didn’t fix.

I stayed with myself—
in the palpable discomfort of conflict and unease.

I took my space. Took my time.
And when asked, I named what I saw.
What I felt.

I saw him slip into his patterns.
And I simply held up a mirror.

No blame.
No performance.
No need to be chosen.

There was a quiet clarity inside me:
I’d rather lose it all than lose myself.

And that—
that’s what self-love is.

Not a bubble bath.
Not a quote on a screen.
Not something to strive for.

But a felt sense of safety within.
A knowing that you can trust yourself—
especially in the moments that once unraveled you.

Self-love is:

— taking space without guilt
— honoring what lives in your body, even the parts that shake
— allowing silence instead of rushing to give an answer
— watching the past knock on your door without letting it move back in
— meeting your patterns with compassion, not shame
— not needing to be understood in order to stand your ground
— trusting that staying open doesn’t mean you’re unprotected
— moving only as fast as the slowest part of you feels safe to go

Self love is being on your own side—fully, finally.

Even when your voice shakes.
Even when someone else doesn’t get it.
Even when the outcome is uncertain.

To me loving yourself is listening to everything that’s present with compassion, and to know— you will be okay, no matter what.

And the beautiful thing is—what happened only deepened the connection.
Because what’s real doesn’t break when exposed to truth.
It grows stronger.