There was a time I thought I had to try harder.

To be more lovable.

To say the right things, do the right things, wait for someone else to choose me — so I could finally feel chosen.

But I no longer live that way.

Because now I know:

The most beautiful love isn’t something you find.

It’s something you become.

It’s not loud.

It doesn’t chase.

It doesn’t ache with desperation.

It radiates.

My journey back to love didn’t begin with someone else.

It began with silence.

With solitude.

With sitting in the dark with my own heart and asking gently,

What do you need from me, beloved?

There were nights I cried quietly — not because someone had hurt me, but because I had abandoned myself for too long.

And then I stopped.

Stopped begging for crumbs.

Stopped fighting for space.

Stopped believing I had to earn love by shrinking.

Instead, I started building a home inside myself.

I became my own soft landing.

I started smiling at strangers.

I let the warmth in my heart move through my body, not for applause — but because it felt true.

I offered my seat at an ice cream shop to a young girl who had nowhere to sit,

and though the space became smaller, my soul expanded.

That family — strangers moments before — gave me back something sacred:

Kindness. Appreciation. Gentle words that reminded me:

Yes. You are on the right path. It is right to live this way. It is safe to love freely.

Later, I returned to that same shop.

Busy, bustling with new faces.

And still —

they remembered me.

The staff smiled, lit up, and said, “We’re so happy to see you again.”

And in that tiny moment,

something inside me healed.

Not because I was important to the world —

but because I had become important to myself.

I was remembered.

Not for being loud. Not for being perfect.

But for being love.

This is what I’ve learned:

Love doesn’t arrive because you want it to.

It arrives because you are ready to hold it.

And readiness doesn’t mean perfection —

it means embodiment.

I no longer chase love.

I live it.

I speak it.

I offer it without conditions.

And in doing so, I’ve become magnetic.

Not to everyone — but to the right ones.

The ones who speak my soul’s language.

The ones who recognize light because they’ve held their own darkness.

The ones who mirror back the softness I now refuse to hide.

This is what soft power feels like.

It’s not loud.

It doesn’t dominate.

It doesn’t need to be seen to be felt.

It leads from the heart.

It listens before it speaks.

It forgives — not because it’s weak, but because it is free.

I no longer want to “win” love.

I want to become the kind of woman love feels safe coming home to.

And I am.

Symbols follow me now —

not as coincidences, but as confirmations.

I no longer follow a map on my phone.

I follow my inner compass.

It has led me to chalice-shaped cafés,

unexpected gifts, kind strangers,

and conversations I didn’t know I needed.

The universe speaks in subtle ways:

Rain falling at the exact moment I sit in a sacred space.

A stranger’s kindness.

A tarot card pulled at the perfect time.

The feeling of being seen without having to explain.

This is the quiet language of alignment.

The way the Divine whispers:

Keep going. You’re becoming exactly who you came here to be.

I am the love I longed for.

I am the home I searched for.

I am the miracle I once begged the universe to send.

And because I embody it,

I know — without doubt —

that the love I deserve is on its way.

Not as a rescue.

But as a mirror.

A soul who will recognize me not by appearance,

but by energy.

Not by perfection,

but by presence.

They will know me by the way I love.

By the way I stay soft.

By the way I light up rooms I enter quietly.

And until that day, I keep loving.

Keep softening.

Keep becoming.

Because I no longer need love to complete me.

I am love —

and the universe responds accordingly.

To you, dear reader:

You don’t need to wait to be loved.

You don’t need to perform.

You only need to return —

to yourself.

Fill your own cup so fully that it spills onto everyone you meet.

Smile when it’s genuine.

Offer your seat.

Cry when you need to.

Speak kindly.

Forgive yourself.

The love you’re calling in is already on its way —

because now, you’re the kind of person it can find.

And when it arrives, it won’t surprise you.

It will feel familiar.

Like the warmth of a corner seat.

Like a smile that says,

“We’re so happy to see you again.”