Letting Go of Love and Surrendering to Trust

There was a time when life felt like a relentless emotional storm—waves of hope followed by crashing despair, stirred up by someone who simply couldn’t meet me where I needed to be met.

But right now, as I sit quietly in the Tuscan morning light, looking out over the rolling hills and sun-kissed countryside, I feel something I once thought impossible: peace.

Not the fleeting kind that comes from distraction or denial, but the kind that settles deeply within, after walking through the blazing fire and emerging on the other side.

Now that I’m well and have done the deep inner work in therapy, I can see things clearly and with compassion.

Much of what I once saw as “illness” was actually heartbreak.

Years of being entangled in a painful emotional dynamic—with a dismissive avoidant partner who offered crumbs of affection, moments of longing followed by silence. He left me emotionally shattered and exhausted.

His mixed messages, the lunches, the occasional reach-out that hinted at love he couldn’t express… and me, refusing to compromise my self-respect, staying silent even when I longed to speak my truth.

He never showed up with any sort of emotional integrity.

And yet I always knew, deep down, that he loved me—just not in a way he could act upon.

And I loved him so deeply, it nearly cost me my life. At times, the pain was unbearable. But what I’ve now come to understand is this: the only way we could ever heal was by taking separate paths.

One of us needed to move towards connection, authenticity and love (him), and the other needed to learn to love themselves first—to become secure in who they are.

It’s devastating, realising how our childhood wounds and attachment styles played out in such destructive ways.

But something has shifted. I’m sleeping again. I’m trying new things. I’m learning, growing, maturing—coming home to myself.

The devastation has faded. There’s a quiet memory now, a fondness, a slight sadness perhaps, but no more clinging.

I’ve let go.

I’ve prioritised solitude—not out of fear or withdrawal, but as a conscious choice. There’s no longer dependency. Just deep understanding. A quiet sorrow for him, that he may never fully realise what’s going on inside him, yes, but at the same time I also accept that.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Two people on separate journeys, both seeking to become whole.

And here, writing in the heart of Tuscany, I feel trust rising in me—trust that everything happened for a reason.

That this pain served a purpose. That it wasn’t meaningless. It forced me to grow, to confront the parts of myself that needed healing. And isn’t that what life is really about?

It’s not about money, careers, or even having children. It’s about coming into ourselves, connecting with our own soul so we can connect more meaningfully with others, and with something greater than ourselves.

So, I surrender.

I trust the unfolding of life. I trust that what is meant for me will never pass me by.

I’ll continue embracing new experiences, staying open to the gifts life offers. This freedom I feel—the freedom from needing anything outside myself to feel whole—is inextricable, and in truth - priceless.

Whatever comes next, I am, and will from this moment on, be absolutely fine. x

TR