Blog Post Twenty - “The Storm That Finds Me”

For the longest time, I swore I was done with love — or at least, with the idea of chasing it. No matter how cautious I tried to be, it always seemed to sneak up on me. I'd fall fast, and when it didn’t work out (because, let’s be real, it usually didn’t), it felt like forever before I could move on.

And the worst part? I never saw it coming.

It’s like a storm that rolls in out of nowhere — sudden, fierce, and impossible to ignore. One glance, one laugh, one conversation... and boom. Another new love story begins. Another version of the same patterns, the same heartbreak, the same aftermath.

In between those whirlwind stories, I cycle through different eras of myself. First comes my healing-girl phase, where I focus on self-care, journaling, and reclaiming my peace. Then my party-girl era (hello, girls' nights out and way too many late-night fries). Next, I dive into my health and wellness phase, convincing myself that green smoothies and sunrise runs will cure everything.

Then there’s my boss-girl season — hyper-focused, independent, chasing goals like I don’t even have time to think about love. And finally... the villain era. You know the one: detached, confident, low-key savage, thriving without needing anyone's validation.

And just when I feel fully healed, whole, and — dare I say it — untouchable... it happens.

Again.

Love finds me when I least expect it. It happened recently, actually. I wasn’t looking, wasn’t even thinking about it. I had built walls so high they were practically scraping the clouds. But somehow, this person snuck in anyway. The connection was so natural, so easy, it terrified me.

Now, here I am — stuck between wanting to believe in it and fearing that it’s just another lesson in disguise. Another temporary chapter. Another almost.

Sometimes I sit alone and wonder: What am I doing wrong? Why does everything beautiful slip through my fingers like water? Why does it feel like every time I find something real, I end up clinging to the crumbs of what could’ve been?

I ask myself:

• Am I rushing things?

• Am I too open?

• Should I have been colder? More guarded?

But no. I wasn't chasing anyone. I wasn’t desperate. I simply chose to open my heart when something real showed up. Because honestly, the thought of rejecting something genuine, just out of fear, scares me even more than heartbreak does.

So, I let it happen. I feel it. Even when it's risky. Even when my mind screams, "protect yourself," and my heart quietly whispers, "maybe this time..."

Right now, I’m somewhere in the in-between — between hope and fear, excitement and anxiety. The distance, the quiet moments, the not-knowing... they all feed my worries.

And I wonder: Haven’t I healed enough already? Haven’t I grown enough, learned enough? Why does it still feel like love keeps slipping through my hands?

Love is messy. It’s uncertain. It's vulnerable.

And honestly? That’s terrifying.

I pray — like, genuinely pray — that someday, the universe will send someone who's meant to stay. That I won't have to keep learning lessons through heartbreak.

But for now, I’m learning to be okay with not knowing. To love boldly, even if it doesn’t last forever. To trust that every almost-love shapes me into someone stronger, softer, wiser.

And if you’re reading this and feel the same way — stuck between hope and heartbreak — just know: you’re not alone.

We’re all figuring it out. One confusing, beautiful, terrifying chapter at a time.

And yes — we are all loving. But I am confused, anxious, and guarded. And deep down, I can't help but ask the universe the same question we have all asked it: Why? Why does this feel like the beginning of something that might simply end as just another almost?