I met my soul mate recently. Yep, at the age of 37.
I’ve been waiting all my life to meet my my other half.
I’ve yearned for the companion that just got me and enjoyed all the silly, quirky things I said.
I’ve longed for someone to understand the nuances of my personality and not judge me for waiting a week to fold the laundry.
I’ve hoped for that buddy that I could enjoy the same indie flicks with, who would also dislike horror films or anything scary because, like me, they would be super sensitive to the energies around them.
I’ve wished for that person that would love me no matter how messy my hair looked or how puffy my eyes were in the morning, because I stayed up too late writing or watching Netflix again.
I’ve prayed for someone to be my rock in times of inner or outer turmoil—you know that grounding, good natured, pat on the back type.
Recently though, I’ve realized none of those things matter, that they were all just a mirage, so, I let them go.
I opened myself to the moment…
And, I’ve found my soul mate—after a brief 37 year wait.
Yes, a she.
She has a beautiful heart.
Brown hair, going gray at the roots, freckles, loves yoga and all things deep and philosophical.
She loves cooking—my favorite grounding activity!
She loves nature, in all its forms.
She is highly sensitive and definitely not into the scary stuff.
Oh, and she is a mom—and loves it and finds it terrifying at the same time.
Are you wondering who she is?
It’s me, silly!
I’ve finally fallen into a deep love affair with my own body, mind and heart! You see, I was told a lie—well, we all were— when I was young. I was told that I had to keep giving my love away. I was told that it was selfish to give it to myself first. I was told that I had to find someone else to love me first—before I even love me!
I was told a lie, and you were too.
It was told to me through media—in all its forms. It was told to me by my parents, through the fairy tales they read to me and the constant re-telling of how they met when they were both seeking their lost half, because they both felt the need to do what people do in their 20s and 30s who want families.
It was told to me by my peers, having pretend weddings on the playground during recess, mirroring what was told to them by many generations that believed this lie to be truth, or perhaps never questioned it.
I was freed from my shackles recently by a wonderful man—a man I felt love for, a man that came into my life to offer me the gift of loving myself. But, at the time of our connection, I did not know that. All I knew was that I felt slightly uncomfortable in my skin around him, sensing that he felt that way too.
So, one night we talked about what our dreams and aspirations were. With this talk bled out our outlooks on life. I felt our hearts close a bit as we began the discussion. Hiding. Lying. Fearful of really being seen. Somehow our visions of life clashed. Somehow this was a roadblock.
We both listened to each other and didn’t respond much, parting ways shortly after that.
We then had a discussion a few days later, instigated by me, who was bothered by the tension that seemed keep us from contacting each other.
Are we not right for each other? I said, with some timidness. He echoed my sentiments. It wasn’t that we weren’t right, it was that we were withholding our true selves from each other—thus, real love. It was actually the most enlightened break-up I’ve experienced: two self-aware people acknowledging their deep feelings for the other, while also honoring themselves with the realization that a relationship cannot be forced.
After it ended, I spun deeply into my mind and heart and began to peel away the beliefs that had been programmed into me from my first day on Earth.
Did I really want a partner or did I just feel a pressure to have one? I’d felt a pressure to meet someone all of my life, dressing a certain way, or acting a certain way, to impress whomever I had a crush on (and I know I’m not the only one who’s done this!).
I often looked at myself as a projected image of what this other person saw of me or wanted of me. I even did this in relationship. At the time, however, I thought I was being authentic.
I am a strong woman. I don’t like being controlled. I don’t take bullsh*t, and yet, I now see clearly that for years upon years of my life I did just that. I seemed to lose myself in relationship, often.
Since stepping into single motherhood, I have felt a pressure to meet a mate. A year ago it was spawned by my daughter asking me where my man was (she is with her father half of the time, but started to question why he was with another woman, etc.). She was three going on four at the time, and, while I had yearnings for companionship, especially an adult to communicate with in the home, I believe that was also fueled by a guilt, of perhaps confusing her, as she transitioned between a home with dad, stepmom and stepsister, to one with just her and mom.
The desire for more financial security also pushed me to date more (after all, marriage was originally a financial agreement). But, my recent falling in love with myself has pushed these lies to the wayside. I’m doing okay. And the more I let go and trust, and be myself, the more I thrive.
The real truth is: I want to fall in love with all of life—and, I am!
Life is truly, as the Beatles coined it, a magical mystery tour and we are here to enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!
Since I’ve embraced me as my lover, my head’s clearer. I am enjoying motherhood more. I am enjoying personal time more. I am doing all the things I love to do and just enjoying, enjoying, enjoying!
So, let me end with two questions for you?
Have you fallen in love with yourself yet? I mean really, really deep love, like deeper than the deepest romance you’ve ever had?
Is your face all scrunched up right now, or is it relaxed and smiling? That’s your answer!
Love you! You have you for the rest of this life. Enjoy it!
If you love you, this statement will becoming comforting, even freeing:
“You are born alone and die alone.”
So, before anyone else can say, “I love you,” say it to you first.
I think if this level of personal love existed on this planet, we might just float away. I don’t know about you, but I kind of like floating.
Author: Sarah T. Lamb
Editor: Travis May
Photo: Author’s own