Thought It Was God, But It Was Me
There was a time I swore it was God.
The way things felt so intense, so real.
The way the connection mirrored everything I prayed for.
The way I held on, believing it was divine timing —
when all along, it was just me.
Hoping. Longing. Naming my ache as “God’s plan”
because that was easier than facing the truth:
He wasn’t the one.
I confused desire for direction.
I mistook stillness for a sign.
I gave my heart permission to hold on
because I thought letting go meant I didn’t trust God.
But now I see...
It wasn’t God that kept me waiting.
It was me —
too afraid to admit that something I wanted so badly
might not be mine.
I’ve learned something sacred in this pain:
God doesn’t whisper confusion.
He doesn’t play games with my heart.
He speaks in peace,
not in the torment I called “testing.”
So this is me now —
healing.
Unblaming God.
Understanding that not every closed chapter was punishment.
Some were rescue missions.
Some were gentle redirections
disguised as heartbreak.
I still believe in divine love.
But I no longer idolize the idea of being chosen.
I choose myself now —
with clarity. With softness. With him.













