The Loneliness of Becoming

Grieving Those Who Didn't Stay

They don’t talk about this part enough.
The loneliness that settles in the more you step into your truth.

Everyone claps for your glow-up. They praise your spiritual awakening.
They say things like “You’re growing! You’ve changed, in a good way!”
But I underestimated the cost of choosing myself—and how many wouldn’t come along with me.

I didn’t expect to feel so alone once I finally found myself.

And not just alone physically, but spiritually, emotionally.Because as I’ve risen into this deeper, more whole version of me; the version that’s no longer begging to be chosen, explaining my worth, or shrinking to keep the peace
I’ve watched people fall away. Slowly. Silently. Sometimes, all at once.

People I thought would be in my life forever.
People I dreamed with. Prayed for. Cheered for.
People who claimed to always be there... until they met the parts of me that required depth, accountability, and reciprocity.

In a collective reading I posted today, Spirit urged us to drop our armor and look at what we’re truly avoiding. So I turned inward and asked Spirit directly:

What am I hiding from?

And the message hit like truth always does—sharp, clear, and undeniable.

• The Hermit: You’ve survived more than most know, having carried it alone and in silence.

• The Two of Pentacles Reversed: You're hiding from the fact that your heart has risen above the kind of love you used to settle for.

• The Hierophant Reversed: You’re hiding from the wisdom that’s bloomed through your rebellion. Still scared to own how powerful your path is.

Spirit’s advice?
“Stand your ground.”
“Open up.”

Which, let me tell you, feels almost rude when you’re this tender. Like,
“Excuse me, ma’am…I’m grieving, not avoiding.”
But they were right.

It made me think of the caged bird analogies from Maya Angelou and Marilyn Frye—the way we can be trapped without even realizing it. Sometimes the cage looks like love and controls through ‘concern.’ You grow comfortable in it, even possibly finding a sense of safety there. So when freedom finally comes, it feels foreign—less comforting than the familiarity of restriction. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt like I’ve been grieving for so long… not just the people I’ve lost, but the comfort I once found in my own limitations.

Photo by Beth Jnr on Unsplash

I realized that I had been scared. Scared to hope again. Scared to believe that someone might still meet me in this new place I’d arrived at. I’m scared to love.
Because the last person I had that kind of faith in—well he let me down. And the signs around him were so loud for nine years, that I thought they meant he was the one.
But they were really there to wake me up. To crack me open. To make me see that I was pouring love into someone who couldn’t hold it. And it wouldn’t be the last time I did.

Now, there’s someone else circling my spirit.
Someone else I wanted to believe in.
But my heart is tired. And my faith is wobbly.

And if I’m honest, I’m not just scared of him not coming back—I’m scared of me hoping that he will.

---

But here's the truth I’m anchoring into:
I don’t want the old version of love anyway.
I want the real thing.

I don’t want the whirlwind kind of falling; the “true love’s kiss in three days” type of fairytale romance (just rewatched The Little Mermaid and wow... so that’s where my delusional love patterns came from).

I want the slow burn. The steady, intentional kind. Vulnerable. Consistent. Reciprocal.
Love that meets me where I am now—not where I used to shrink to fit.

And if that means walking alone a little longer? So be it.
Because I’m not dimming my light just to be seen by someone wearing spiritual sunglasses. And that’s what really gets me… realizing I was never the problem. Even though I spent so long convincing myself I was.

I thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I needed to be more patient, more understanding. But when I sit with the truth—sit with Spirit—I see it clearly:
It wasn’t about my lack. It was about my light.

My presence illuminated things they weren’t ready to face. Being around me meant they couldn’t avoid their own reflection. And instead of rising to meet it, they ran from themselves, and from me.

And it wasn’t just lovers. It was family. Friends.
And now all of it is coming into the light for me to face.

To anyone else who feels the ache of outgrowing what no longer honors you,
To anyone grieving people who were supposed to stay,
To anyone doubting their own magic because it made others uncomfortable…

I see you. I am you.

This part of the journey is brutal and holy and quiet and wild.
But you are not walking it for nothing.

You are not alone.
Even when it feels like it.

You’re just becoming someone only real ones can recognize.

And I promise you: the real ones are coming.

—Jordan💛

---

Thank you so much for reading The Divine Vitality!

If my stories, readings, and reflections bring value to your journey, inspire, or guide you, I would be truly grateful if you’d consider supporting me. You can become a paid subscriber, book an affordable tarot reading to help me practice and grow, or even offer a small contribution via my tip jar.

My heart for this blog has always been to share love, light, and healing openly, and I deeply desire that everyone who visits here finds something meaningful. At the same time, your support empowers me to keep creating, sharing, and learning as I pursue this as my career. Every bit of encouragement and support is a blessing, and I’m endlessly grateful to each of you for helping make this journey possible.

Thank you for being here💛