On Receiving Love, Honoring Readiness, and Choosing the Sacred Over the Convenient

There was a time I feared being alone.

Not because I didn’t enjoy solitude—I’ve always found comfort in quiet corners of the world, the sound of my own breath, the ritual of books and tea and candlelight. But somewhere along the way, I began to internalize the stories that told me something was missing if I didn’t have someone to call my own.

That a woman alone must be waiting.

That her life was on pause until someone else chose her.

But I’m not waiting anymore.

And I’m no longer afraid of being alone.

What I’m afraid of now—truly afraid of—is settling.

Because I know what my love holds.

I know the depth I carry.

The way I love isn’t light or passing—it’s sacred, intentional, consuming in the most tender way. I don’t love to be filled. I love because I am full.

And I will not pour myself into a place where it cannot be held with reverence.

So no—I won’t choose a relationship just to tick a box.

I won’t say yes to someone who only sees the surface of me.

I won’t quiet the voice of my soul for the comfort of belonging.

Because this love I’m holding? It’s meant for something true.

And I’ve done too much healing to hand it to someone who doesn’t feel it all the way through.

Let it be sacred. Or let it be nothing at all.

Let love come softly, like a sunrise—not something I chase or force, but something I wake up into.

Let it be honest. Messy, maybe—but rooted in truth.

Let it be the kind of connection that doesn’t rush but remembers—remembers that love was never supposed to be a performance or a prize, but a place to come home to.

I used to confuse urgency with passion, presence with possession.

But now I know: what’s sacred will never make me abandon myself to keep it.

It will ask me to come closer to my truth—not further away.

I’m learning to receive. Not just give.

For years, I gave everything—my love, my understanding, my energy—without knowing how to receive in return.

I thought if I just loved harder, showed up more, stayed softer, I’d finally be enough for someone to stay.

But giving without receiving became a form of quiet self-abandonment.

Now, I’m softening into a different kind of strength—

The kind that opens to being loved.

That says yes when someone shows up with sincerity.

That no longer feels guilty for needing tenderness in return.

I am learning to hold my hand out—not to beg, but to receive.

Because love, real love, isn’t earned. It’s mirrored.

How I Know I’m Ready for Real Love

Not because I’ve figured everything out. Not because I’ve healed perfectly.

But because I no longer need love to fix me. I want it to meet me.

I want the kind of love that feels like soft recognition. That brings peace, not confusion.

That makes me feel more myself, not less.

I want a partner who sees my silence and understands it.

Who watches how I move through the world—with softness and thoughtfulness—and cherishes it, not questions it.

I want a love that holds both my fire and my fragility.

A love that doesn’t just want me—

But is ready for me.

Because I’m not asking for a fantasy.

I’m asking for something real.

Something that grows.

Something that roots.

Something that aligns with the woman I’ve become.

With all my heart,

Seraphine Duong

I am no longer afraid of empty space in my bed, or solo mornings, or the quiet echo of a Sunday spent alone.

Because I am full.

Because I am ready—not desperate.

Because I now understand that love is not the goal of my life…

It’s the sacred reflection of how deeply I’ve come to know myself.

So when it comes, I will open fully.

Not out of lack.

But from the place I’ve spent so long building—

The one where I now believe:

I deserve the kind of love I give so freely.

And I will wait for it,

not in loneliness—

but in power.