Thirteen Full Moons

In Your Divine Time™ · a personal reflection

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We went on our first hike on a full moon.

Neither of us planned it that way. It just took us about a month to line up our schedules — and when we finally did, the moon was full. So we started counting. Thirteen full moons now. Every single one, we stop and notice. We make it a night.

A year. One whole year with this man. And I still catch myself in a kind of quiet disbelief — not because I doubt it, but because of exactly where I was standing right before he walked in.

I was good.

I mean it. I was good by myself. I had made peace with the idea that I might spend the rest of my life on my own — and I wasn't sad about it. Just weeks before we met, I sat down to dinner with my first husband. We talked, we healed a little, and we both admitted we were content being single. I remember thinking, this is it. This is my life. And it's a good one.

That peace didn't come easy. It was earned.

The little girl waiting to be saved

I remember being a small child, lying in bed, so sure a prince charming would come and save me. Once I had him, everything would be okay. The white picket fence. The family. Life would finally be good. Life would finally be happy.

And I did have that. So many times. Two marriages. A long string of relationships — some beautiful, some terrible. A blessing and a curse.

But it never worked. Because I was building my whole sense of okay on someone else. I'd find the person and immediately start trying to nail it all down — plan it out, lock it in, secure it — so that finally I could relax into being happy. It was all outside of me. Every bit of it.

And the thing about a house built outside yourself? It falls down.

The bottom that became the medicine

My last big relationship was with a narcissist. And I lost myself in it. Completely.

I won't dress that up. It was the bottom.

But I am so grateful for it. Because the bottom is where the real healing finally had room to happen. That was the moment I stopped asking why does this keep happening to me — and started asking what's my part in this?

We're so quick to blame the other person. I get it. But when I got honest, I saw it. The expectations, for one. I'd been carrying so many expectations — on my partners, on the people around me — and setting myself up to be disappointed every single time. Because people are who they are. They're on their own journey, not mine. They're not going to learn what I'm learning, on my timeline, in my way. And that's not a betrayal. That's just human.

Letting go of those expectations was one of the biggest growths of my life. Not the healthy ones — of course we can expect to be treated well. But the rest of it? The picture I kept trying to press onto other people? I set it down. And I finally gave people the space to just… be who they are.

The very thing that happened to me became my medicine. 

Becoming whole on my own

So I did the work. The unglamorous, in-the-body, feel-it-to-heal-it work.

And somewhere in there, I built a life that was fully mine. My own house. My own car. Traveling by myself, anywhere I wanted. I didn't need anybody. And I mean that as the most freeing sentence I know.

Because here's what I've come to believe: that's the moment the right energy can finally come in. When you're not reaching, not grasping, not trying to fill a hole. When you already know you're good — whole, worthy, enough, all on your own — you start vibrating at a frequency that draws in something that actually matches you.

Everything else becomes a bonus. Everything else is just a bonus.

The letter

For years I've written to the universe on the new moon and the full moon. But I'd stopped writing that particular letter — the one about a partner — for a long, long time. I didn't want anyone. I wasn't ready. I needed the space.

And then one day, something in me softened. Alright. I'm open.

So I wrote it. Detailed — almost stubbornly detailed. What I wanted. What I didn't. What I'd lived through and never wanted again. What lit me up. All of it, on the page.

And then I met him.

He started checking off the boxes. Every one. And then more — like the universe leaned in and said, here, have some extra. Honestly? It scared me. It felt too good to be true.

The old voices showed up right on cue — the narcissist's voice, still living rent-free in my head, whispering all the things I supposedly did wrong, all the reasons this couldn't be real. And for a second I thought, maybe he was right.

But I didn't hand the wheel back to that voice. I trusted the process. I trusted the alignment — for both of us.

Both of us, healed enough

Because that's the part that made it work. Neither of us was looking. We were both coming out of hard things — but he was far enough along in his own healing, and so was I. I was so careful about that. I knew I didn't want to pour myself into someone freshly out of a relationship, someone mid-divorce, still bleeding. We'd both done the deep work. Separately. And now we get to keep doing it — together.

And we are on different journeys. His is his. Mine is mine. He's learning his things and I'm learning mine, still, always. The gift is that we give each other the space to keep going. We communicate — clearly, honestly, tenderly. Where we are. Who we are. What we want, on our own and together.

I never thought I'd have a relationship this healthy. I truly didn't.

Just this moment

Now — being who I am, I still want the confirmation. I catch myself trying to figure out the universe. Where is this going? How many lifetimes have we done this before?

And every time, my higher self gently reminds me: this is your present moment. You can't plan too far ahead. You can't go back. This is it. This is the whole thing. So enjoy it.

So that's what we do. Every day. We enjoy each other. We love each other a little more. We have so much fun doing the things we love — and we know how to be quiet together, too. No filling the air with filler that means nothing. Just presence. Just this.

This is a love like no other. And I know — it's only a year. It's still new. But I'm trusting what I've already learned, and everything I still get to learn, by myself and beside him.

The prince charming was never coming to save me. I know that now.

I became whole first. And everything since has just been the bonus.

In your divine time — not a moment too soon, not a moment too late. 🦋