This morning, my husband, without a single word, slipped out of bed early. He moved with the kind of deliberate gentleness that only comes from a place of true care. He quietly showered, dressed, and went out to get me my favorite pumpkin marshmallow cold brew—because he knew I needed that small pick-me-up. He knew I needed to feel seen. Loved.
It’s a cup of coffee, right? But it’s so much more than that. It’s a symbol that says, “I thought of you first thing today. You matter to me.”
And that might sound simple, but for me, it’s monumental.
See, I spent too many mornings twisted in anxiety. Used to wake up drenched in dread, stomach knotted, just bracing myself for another day of suspicion and second-guessing. With my ex, I lived with the constant background hum of fear. Fear that every goodbye kiss was the prelude to his next betrayal. Fear that I was just killing time until he moved on to someone else.
Imagine going through your day with that kind of dark, pulsing cloud hanging over you—wondering “What’s he up to now?” even when I was miles away at work.
And yeah, I still went back to him. Over. And over.
Because I thought I could fix it. I thought if I could just be more—more loving, more available, more perfect—maybe then he’d finally stay. But I was the only one hurting. The only one trying.
And then…began to heal. And everything changed.
My healing was the catalyst to him breaking up with me.
With Steve, it’s the absence of doubt, the end of endless comparison and what-ifs. There’s no checking phones, no tracking timelines, no panicked, midnight spirals. Steve shows me that love isn’t about proving myself or competing for attention. He only has eyes for me, and he shows it every single day—whether it’s dropping off three ridiculously soft Puma sweatpants because he thought they looked “super comfy” or grabbing a coffee before I’ve even opened my eyes. His gestures might seem tiny to others, but they’re seismic shifts in my world.
Because when you’ve been drowning in distrust, even the smallest acts of thoughtfulness feel like a lifeline.
So now, instead of obsessing over the past—over the lies, the betrayal, the hollow apologies—I’m working on celebrating what I have. I don’t have to stay tethered to that version of myself, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I’m done letting the future riddle me with anxiety.
I’m learning how to live here—in this moment—by listening to my body’s cues and honoring my instincts.
Lesson in surrender. In allowing myself to fully receive the kind of love I thought was only reserved for everyone else.
Because the best love isn’t the one that keeps you on edge, walking on eggshells, holding your breath.
The best love… is the one that brings you coffee in the morning, just because.
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