There are people who enter our lives like a reflection—so magnetic, so familiar, we convince ourselves it must be divine. We call it fate. We call it a soul connection. But sometimes, it’s just a mirror. A mirror so sharp, it doesn’t just show you yourself—it cuts you open.

This isn’t a love story.
It’s the story of how I mistook emotional confusion for love.
Of how I projected meaning where there was manipulation.
Of how I stayed loyal to an illusion—until I let it break me open.

And somehow, through it all, it led me back to God.

I Thought It Meant Something

We never dated.
We barely spoke.
And yet, for years, he lived in my mind and heart like an echo I couldn’t silence.

I saw his face everywhere. I heard his name constantly—through friends, strangers, random conversations. It felt cosmic. Like God or the universe was trying to tell me something. I thought it meant something. I thought he was the one.

But looking back now, it wasn’t synchronicity. It was saturation. A trauma response disguised as divine timing. I mistook intensity for intimacy. Ambiguity for fate.

His actions told the real story. He lied. He manipulated. He turned my best friend against me. He reached out only when it benefitted him—and disappeared when it didn’t. I gave my all and lost myself in the process.

He Wasn’t Love—He Was a Mirror

What I felt for him wasn’t love.
It was projection.

Carl Jung described projection as the unconscious act of assigning our inner beliefs, fears, and desires onto another person—especially in emotionally charged relationships (Jung, 1964). I wasn’t drawn to him—I was drawn to the version of him I created in my mind. A version full of potential, depth, and kindness that didn’t actually exist.

And because I hadn’t yet healed from the parts of me that longed to be seen, I clung to someone who couldn’t see me.

According to trauma expert Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, unresolved childhood wounds often lead us to repeat familiar emotional dynamics—not because they’re good for us, but because they’re familiar. “The body keeps the score,” he writes. Our nervous systems respond not to what’s healthy, but to what feels known—even when it’s painful (van der Kolk, 2014).

That’s why his presence felt magnetic. It wasn’t because we were meant to be—it was because my trauma recognized something familiar.

Hypervigilance Disguised as Intuition

I used to believe I could sense him before he arrived. I'd feel a shift in my body and moments later, he’d appear. I called it intuition.

But now I know—it was hypervigilance.

Dr. Judith Herman, in Trauma and Recovery (1992), describes how survivors of emotional trauma often stay on high alert, scanning for emotional threat or connection. I wasn’t spiritually attuned—I was trauma-attuned. My nervous system was always bracing for closeness and abandonment at the same time.

Limerence Isn’t Love

I clung to him for years, even in silence. Even when we weren’t speaking. I kept looking for signs. I called it a soul tie. But what I was actually caught in was limerence.

Psychologist Dorothy Tennov (1979) defined limerence as an obsessive emotional attachment fueled by fantasy and uncertainty. It thrives when affection is intermittent, and the other person remains emotionally unavailable. That was exactly what I was experiencing. What I thought was love was actually longing that had nowhere to land.

Spiritual Bypassing Kept Me Stuck

When logic and therapy couldn’t explain the pull, I turned to spiritual language—soulmates, twin flames, divine timing. It was easier to label my pain as sacred than to admit I was deeply stuck.

Psychologist John Welwood coined the term spiritual bypassing to describe the use of spiritual concepts to avoid emotional work and psychological healing (Welwood, 1984). And that’s exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t surrendered—I was avoiding. I was bypassing grief and calling it spiritual wisdom.

God Was Pulling Me Somewhere New

Eventually, I couldn’t carry the weight anymore.

So I left.

But I didn’t just leave Ohio—I followed a calling. I truly believe God put it in my heart to move to Florida. I didn’t fully understand why at the time, but I knew it was the right step. I knew something better—something more aligned with peace—was waiting for me.

And now I see:
God was pulling me toward a new beginning.
One away from the people who hurt me.
One that would allow me to finally heal in peace.

There’s an Arabic saying: “لو فيه خير ما كان راح”
“If it was any good for you, it would have stayed.”

I tried everything before I left—being kind, being distant, being honest, being silent. Nothing worked. So I walked away.

Closure Didn’t Come From Him—It Came From Me

Months after I moved, he reached out. I sent an angry text. He didn’t respond.
Later, he called again. I didn’t answer.
Then, three months ago, during my first trip back to Ohio, I sent him one final message. I said everything I needed to say. Everything I had held in for years.

No reply.

But this time, the silence didn’t break me. It freed me.

Because I finally understood:
He was never mine. He was my mirror.
A reflection of every fear, every wound, every unmet need.
He revealed my abandonment wounds, my patterns of overgiving, my longing to be chosen.

And I used that mirror to heal myself.
To come back home to who I was before I questioned my worth.
To return to God with a softer, clearer heart.

I No Longer Chase What Hurts

He wasn’t a soulmate.
He wasn’t my person.
He wasn’t love.

He was an interruption.
The wound that revealed the way.
The mirror that forced me to see myself clearly.

Now, I don’t chase intensity.
I don’t romanticize confusion.
I don’t spiritualize pain.

I protect my peace.
I trust what’s real.
And I let love find me—with open eyes, a full heart, and nothing left to prove.

If You’re Still Healing

If you’ve ever mistaken emotional chaos for love—you’re not alone.
If you’ve ever projected your worth onto someone who couldn’t hold it, you’re not broken. You’re just healing.

Sometimes, the person you can’t stop thinking about isn’t your soulmate.
They’re the mirror that shows you everything you still need to reclaim.

And sometimes, God removes you from the familiar not to punish you—but to save you.
To plant you somewhere new.
To give you something real.

This isn’t a story about lost love.
It’s the story of how God pulled me out of illusion—
And led me back to myself.

______

References:

• Jung, C.G. (1964). Man and His Symbols. Dell Publishing.
• van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books.
• Tennov, D. (1979). Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love. Scarborough House.
• Welwood, J. (1984). Toward a Psychology of Awakening. Shambhala Publications.
• Herman, J. (1992). Trauma and Recovery. Basic Books.