There are people who enter our lives like a reflection—so familiar, so magnetic, we convince ourselves it must be something divine. We call it fate. We call it 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. This is the story of how I got caught in the illusion of something sacred, only to realize that what I thought was healing me was actually breaking me. And yet... it still led me back to God.

When Love Feels Like Pain: What No One Knew About Me

On the outside, I came across as strong, independent, even fearless. And in many ways, I was.

Growing up, I used to say, “I’m not scared of anything.” But the truth? I was only ever afraid of one thing—love.

I grew up feeling unlovable. Not because anyone told me that directly—but because of my own battles. With my physical health. With my mental health. With the way I saw myself.

I didn’t know how to hold space for someone else because I had never been taught how to hold space for myself. I craved love deeply—but I didn’t know how to feel safe in it. Closeness felt dangerous. Vulnerability felt like exposure. And being truly seen? That felt unbearable—because there were parts of me I still hadn't accepted, let alone shared.

That’s why meeting him was so unexpected—and so disarming. Because for the first time, I wanted those things. All the things that used to terrify me—softness, connection, intimacy—I suddenly craved them. With him. And I didn’t understand how or why.

Looking back now, I know it wasn’t because he was "the one." It was because my soul was waking up. He didn’t come into my life to stay—he came into my life to awaken me.

Emotional Confusion and Spiritual Disruption

Even when we weren’t speaking, I could always feel him.

I’d get this quiet knowing—an awareness that he was near. I remember being at the gym and knowing he was about to walk in, before he even appeared. Other times, I’d feel a shift in my energy—an uneasiness or pull—and within minutes, I’d see him at a store, an event, or somewhere else around the city.

We never dated. We barely spoke. But over the next five years, we kept finding our way back to each other. Months, even years would pass without contact, and then suddenly, we’d cross paths again.

And everywhere I went, people somehow brought him up. We had a lot of the same friends, and his name always seemed to surface. Each time it did, I’d brush it off. I always told people I didn’t like him. I wasn’t open with my feelings—and honestly, I didn’t even know how I felt. It was easier to deny it than to admit I didn’t have the words for what I was experiencing.

Because how do you explain that someone you barely know has lived in your head and your heart for years?

A lot of what I knew about him came from other people. His name carried stories, assumptions, and rumors that I never really asked him about. People were always talking—spreading things, attaching labels—but in all the times I saw him, he never spoke poorly about anyone. He wasn’t just nice—he was kind. There was a softness to the way he moved through the world, a calmness in how he treated people. That made me believe there was more to him than what others said.

But what I saw wasn’t the full picture. I confused surface-level charm for substance. I mistook his presence for purpose. And I filled in the blanks with everything I wanted him to be. Most of what I felt came from me—not from him.

Admiration and growth are not the same as love. I see that now. I wasn’t in love with him—I was aching to feel whole. And he was just the mirror that reflected everything I thought I lacked.

A Turning Point Disguised as Destiny

When I was 24, I looked into his eyes—really looked—and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was home. Everything in me paused. I didn’t feel anxious. I didn’t feel guarded. I just felt... still.

He had the biggest smile in the room. Even if I was hurting, even if my heart felt heavy, seeing him made the world soften. Just being near him brought a kind of peace I had never felt with anyone before.

And that’s what made it so disorienting. Because the depth of what I felt didn’t match the reality in front of me. There was no relationship. No commitment. No effort. It was just a moment—one that I clung to, hoping it meant something more than it did.

So I pulled away. Not because I wanted to—but because I didn’t know how to hold something that powerful when it wasn’t being returned. I didn’t know how to carry the weight of one-sided hope.

That moment stayed with me—but not because it was real. It stayed because it exposed how badly I wanted to be loved. And how deeply I was willing to believe someone cared, even when they showed me they didn’t.

Searching for Meaning

About a year and a half after meeting him, I came across the idea of deeply connected souls—what some might call spiritual counterparts. It explained the intensity, the pull, the constant reappearances. But it also left me confused. I fell down a rabbit hole—looking for answers, signs, and validation. Trying to prove to myself that this meant something, that I wasn’t crazy for feeling the way I did.

But the more I searched outward, the more lost I became inward. And the more I ran from my feelings for him, the more I suffered. I was in denial for many years—convincing myself it wasn’t that deep, that it wasn’t real, that I was just overthinking. But that denial turned into pain. Emotional numbness. Confusion. It wasn’t until I surrendered and finally accepted my feelings that I felt peace. Not because anything changed externally—but because I stopped fighting what my heart had been trying to say all along.

Letting Go: Faith, Clarity, and Emotional Healing

This was a spiritual awakening—not a fairytale. And he wasn’t "the one." If he were, I wouldn’t have suffered the way I did. Love from God doesn’t arrive through torment. It arrives through mercy. Through clarity. Through peace. This connection cracked me open and transformed me, but it was never meant to stay. It was meant to awaken me.

Looking back, it’s clear that he never cared about me—not truly. That realization is painful, not because I lost him, but because I spent so long believing in a version of him that never really existed. I thought so highly of someone who only ever left me confused, hurt, and unseen. What I mistook for divine was actually my own longing—my hope that someone would finally choose me.

It led me to take better care of myself. To open up to others instead of shutting down. To succeed in ways I never thought I could. It inspired me to become a therapist—to help others move through their own pain with faith and compassion.

And so I release it, fully, with gratitude. Because it served its purpose: it brought me back to God.

If you’ve ever confused intensity for love or found yourself breaking over someone who wasn’t meant for you—know that you’re not alone. You’re not weak for having felt deeply. And you’re not broken for needing to heal.

Sometimes what feels like love is actually a mirror. One that forces you to see everything you’ve been avoiding within yourself. But the good news? That reflection can be your turning point.

He wasn’t my ending. He was my interruption.
A pause that forced me to examine everything I believed about love, worth, and truth.
And now that I’ve healed, I no longer chase what hurts.
I protect my peace—and that is more sacred than anything I thought we had.

With love and faith,
Z