This month has been one of deep introspection — a journey inward I didn’t know I needed until the noise around me became unbearable. One of the biggest lessons I’m learning in this season of healing is how to stop needing to be with someone.

As an empath whose love languages are physical touch, gifts, and acts of service, my natural instinct is to love deeply — to pour into others, to care, to give. Without my dog or a child to receive that love, I found myself trying to fill that void with the presence of another human being. And that combination — of unchecked emotion, alcohol, and a crumbling sense of self-respect — became a recipe for mistaking addiction for affection. I kept seeing “love” through rose-colored glasses, even when it was clearly a mirage.

It took a hard conversation with myself… and ironically, a few sobering words from the very man I had been addicted to, to snap me out of the spiral. His unexpected wisdom echoed louder than I thought it would. And in that moment of clarity, I decided: No more.

It wasn’t easy. It hurt. I had to separate my heart from my habits — to walk away from anything that looked like artificial comfort and turn toward rebuilding the foundation of who I am. That meant no more leaning on distractions. No more numbing myself with temporary highs. No more romanticizing toxicity and calling it love.

Instead, I redirected all that energy inward. I started looking in the mirror and saying the words I had never believed before:

“You are enough.”

“You are worthy.”

“You have a legacy to build — stop throwing away your potential.”

And here’s the beautiful danger of this process: you start to love the silence.

You fall in love with solitude.

You become addicted — not to chaos, but to discipline.

Not to the opposite sex who barely meet you halfway, but to 5am workouts, green juices, and the thrill of becoming your best self.

Your priorities shift. You no longer crave alcohol, validation, or any vice that used to numb the ache. You crave clarity. You crave peace. You crave you.

And once you witness your own transformation — from caterpillar to butterfly — you start honoring your mind, your body, your spirit. You stop accepting crumbs. You stop begging to be seen. You learn to walk away from almost, from temporary, from half-loved. You only welcome what is steady, sacred, and aligned.

Not everyone needs this kind of reckoning to wake up. But if you’re like me — if you feel things too deeply and often lose yourself trying to save others — know this: healing takes time, but it is possible. You just have to surrender. Not to a person. But to yourself.

Start with your habits. Start with your thoughts. I began listening to The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and let those truths guide me. I started manifesting. I stopped trying to control everything and began trusting the Universe. And little by little, I started to feel peace where there once was panic.

What you desire is possible. Your healing is possible. Your destiny is in your hands.

There is power in solitude.

Because when you’re finally alone with yourself — really alone — you begin to meet the version of you that was buried underneath the noise all along.