Living with Loren

“I am ready for loooooovvvvveeeee… why are you hiding from meeeee…”

India.Arie’s soulful singing speaks to the innermost parts of me. Her voice wraps around my apartment like warm honey as I clean and move around the house, folding tiny toddler clothes, stepping around toys, wiping counters that somehow never stay clean for long.

And then suddenly, the lyrics hit me.

Not softly either.

Like truth.

Like realization.

Like God tapping me on the shoulder in the middle of an ordinary moment.

I stop folding clothes for a moment and just listen to the ceiling fan whirling above my head.

Wow.

I am really ready for love.

Not attention. Not chaos. Not potential. Not projects. Not almosts. Not emotionally unavailable men disguised as deep ones.

Love.

The kind that feels safe enough to exhale into.

Both of my dads were men who told me I was worthy, beautiful, and deserving. They spoiled me in their own respective ways. In them, my idea of the man I would one day give my love to eternally was born. Even with their imperfections, they planted something in me early: I was never meant to shrink for love.

Having this realization, I sat down and wrote a prayer to God about the kind of man I wanted.

A man who is kind. A man who communicates gently. A man who protects my heart instead of provoking it. A man emotionally mature enough to apologize. A man who loves God and actually acts like it. A man who can lead without controlling. A man who knows how to hold me without handling me roughly emotionally.

That was nice.

But I still felt like there was something else I needed to do.

So, I wrote letters to my exes.

One by one, I unpacked years of disappointment, lessons, betrayal, longing, hope, insecurity, survival, and growth. Some letters carried grace. Others carried anger. A few carried grief for the versions of myself that kept trying to love broken men into becoming whole.

And honestly?

It was freeing.

But even after all of that, I still felt something unsettled sitting in my chest.

As if on cue, the fan blew a loose piece of paper across the area I was cleaning. I bent down to pick it up and laughed softly to myself because immediately, I knew.

I needed to write a letter to me.

Not the me that men experienced.

The me that survived them.

The me that kept loving anyway.

The me that became a mother. The me that learned discernment. The me that confused struggle with passion. The me that stayed too long. The me that finally left. The me that still believes softness is strength.

So I wrote:

Dear Loren,

Beautiful Loren.

You are a woman that has conquered gracefully.

You have been through several difficult relationships, yet somehow you are still tender and still believe in love. As you enter this next stage of life, I bid you much success in your future relationship.

You have learned that a man must respect you and protect you. He must speak to you kindly and nurture you with reciprocity.

You have learned that you are a Bad B and a Diva in the best way.

Do not settle. Do not ignore red flags. Do not make excuses.

The love of your life will not require excuses to be made for him.

His maturity will be evident. Communication will feel easy. Consistency will not feel confusing.

You once believed that anything worth having is worth fighting for. While that statement holds some truth, it does not apply to your dating life.

When you meet that special someone, replace the word “Love” in 1 Corinthians 13 with his name.

The Bible says:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily anger. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Now read it again and imagine his name there.

He is patient. He is kind. He does not dishonor others. He is not self-seeking. He is not easily angered. He always protects.

When you find that man, love will feel effortless and freeing.

Not perfect. Not conflict-free. But safe.

Do not mother him to nurture him. Let him come to you already functioning as a man.

You have done the work to heal. Do not allow someone unwilling to do their own work to unravel yours.

Be free. And let free come to you.

In the words of Toni Morrison:

“Don’t fall in love, rise in it.”

Love, Loren

When I finished writing the letter, I just sat there quietly for a moment.

No tears. No dramatic revelation. No sadness.

Just peace.

For the first time in a long time, I realized I no longer desired love from a place of desperation, loneliness, or lack. I desired it from wholeness.

And that changes everything.

I do not need a man to complete me. Life already did that. Motherhood did that. Grief did that. Healing did that. God did that.

Now?

I simply desire partnership.

The kind where two whole people meet each other honestly. The kind where softness is protected instead of exploited. The kind where communication is not warfare. The kind where affection is consistent. The kind where accountability exists. The kind where peace and passion can exist in the same room.

I used to think love had to feel hard to be real.

Now I think real love may actually feel like finally putting something heavy down.

Maybe that is what healing does.

It teaches you that butterflies are not always discernment. That inconsistency is not excitement. That confusion is not chemistry. That being chosen temporarily is not the same as being cherished intentionally.

And maybe being ready for love is less about finding someone else and more about finally refusing to abandon yourself when they arrive.

So yes…

I am ready for loooooovvvvveeeee.

And this time, I think love may finally be ready for me too.

At what moment in time did you realize you were ready for love?

Until Next Time,

Keep Living!

Love, Loren

© 2026 Living with Loren by Loren Rhyne. All rights reserved. Created with grace, written with purpose.