It’s not because you’re broken.
It’s not because you’re afraid.
And it’s not because you’ve become too independent.

It’s because you are no longer seeking completion.

That realization sounds beautiful—and in many ways, it is. There is a deep freedom that comes with no longer needing another person to validate your worth or give shape to your existence. You can sit alone for hours and feel perfectly content. You enjoy your own company. You trust your inner world.

But awakening comes with a cost.

You can no longer play the old game.

You can no longer pretend that the familiar performances of conventional romance are real. You can’t fake being swept away when you see too clearly how the sweeping is done. And this is where the loneliness enters—not the loneliness of being physically alone, but a quieter, stranger kind.

It’s the loneliness of seeing through a game that everyone else is still playing.

It’s like being the only adult at a children’s party. The children are laughing, absorbed, and delighted by the rules of their games. And you don’t begrudge them their joy. You remember it. But you can’t join in—not because you don’t want to, not because you can’t—but because you can no longer convince yourself the game is real.

You meet someone. They’re attractive. Interesting. They seem to like you. In another time, this is where the story would begin—the story of pursuit and longing, of two people finding each other in the vastness of the world.

But now, you see the story before it starts.

You see the initial intoxication.
The slow reveal of flaws.
The quiet negotiations.
The subtle realization that neither of you can give the other what you’re looking for—because what you’re looking for doesn’t exist outside yourselves.

So you hesitate.

Not out of fear.
Out of clarity.

You cannot walk into a trap when you see it plainly.
You cannot drink the poison when you know what’s in the cup.

That hesitation sets you apart.

Others feel it. They sense that you aren’t playing by the usual rules, and it unsettles them. Or it intrigues them. Either way, it creates distance. You are harder to place, harder to pull into familiar patterns.

This is the part no one tells you about awakening:

It raises the standard.

Before, you might have been satisfied with someone who made you laugh, someone who desired you, someone who filled the evenings with conversation. That used to be enough.

Now, it isn’t.

Not because you’ve become demanding—but because you’ve become honest.

You’re no longer looking for someone to complete you.
You’re looking for resonance.
For truth meeting truth.
For a connection that doesn’t require you to abandon your awareness or shrink your clarity.

And that kind of love is rare.

Not impossible—but rare.

Because it requires two people who are already whole, willing to meet not from need, but from presence. Not from fantasy, but from reality. Not to fill a void, but to walk side by side, awake.

And so, you wait.
Not in longing.
Not in lack.

But in trust.

Trust that when love comes again, it will not arrive as a distraction or a rescue. It will not ask you to forget what you know or dim what you see. It will recognize you—not as someone to be completed, but as someone already whole.

Until then, you walk lightly. Awake.
Open, but not available to illusion.
Alone, but never unfinished.

And that, too, is a kind of love.

Are you wearing the best colors for you? Each of us has a power color based on the five elements and the day we were born. Sign up for my email list and provide me with the day, month, and year of your birth, and I will send you your birth element and power color!
Want more tips on creating a meaningful life? Subscribe to my YouTube Channel, Creating a Meaningful Life, and follow for more inspiration!