A Love Story With No Other Characters

I haven’t actually had that many relationships in my life. That tends to surprise people, because I’m someone who believes deeply in love, connection, and shared experiences. I had children before I even knew what a date was. But the relationships I did have were significant, and each one left its own mark on the woman I am today.

One of them gave me two beautiful daughters, which will always feel like one of the greatest privileges of my life. Another showed me what it was like to live a version of the “perfect” suburban dream. Careers, a house, structure, even two chinchillas,  routines, and more kitchen gadgets than any family realistically needs. It was tidy and predictable and very Stepford. And while it wasn’t where my soul ultimately belonged, it gave my children a beautiful, stable upbringing, and I’m genuinely proud of that chapter. 

Others showed me how deeply I feel, and how quickly I confuse that with self-abandonment.

I’ve always been deeply compassionate, deeply empathetic, and relentlessly optimistic. I’m outgoing by nature. I see the good in people before they see it in themselves. I shine easily, and for a long time I thought that was simply love doing what love does.

What I understand now is that it was also soul-sucking repetition.

My father was a heroin addict. My first real encounter with him was seeing him  use, which quietly explained his absence before I ever had language for it. From an early age, love became tied to brokenness, longing, and the hope that if I cared enough, stayed long enough, or tried harder, something might finally change.

So as an adult, I was naturally drawn to people with wounds. People with heavy stories. People who needed uplifting. When I poured my energy into them and watched them come alive, I thought that feeling was love. And in those moments, it felt real, it felt like magic.

But that kind of love always came at a cost.

What I didn’t understand then, and what I understand now, is that compassion without personal boundaries isn’t love. It’s self-abandonment. Empathy without discernment turns into responsibility for other people’s healing. Just because I can sit with someone in their pain doesn’t mean it’s my job to carry it for them. 

Hurt people hurt people.
But healed people heal people.

And now, the most loving thing I can do, for myself and for others, is to let people walk their own path without trying to rescue them from it. There are seven billion people in this world. Meeting someone who is broken does not make them my assignment.

That realization didn’t make me colder. It made me clearer.

A few days ago, I held a full moon ceremony. I do them as often as I can, not because they’re mystical or performative, but because they tend to realign me. They slow me down. They remind me to self-reflect. 

I organized a small circle of friends, about ten of us. We each privately wrote things we were ready to release on small pieces of paper. We sat down together on the beach, waves rolling in softly, hands linked, an affirmation song playing softly in the background, and then we burned what we had written. We sat in silence and watched it turn to ash, each of us letting go deliberately.

There was nothing dramatic about it. Just presence. Intention. A reminder of what actually matters.

After months of constant motion, people coming and going, dinners, game-nights, birthdays, festivals, christmas, projects, sailboat stuff, web designing, and always catching last-minute plans that somehow always stretched into late nights and early mornings, everything finally went quiet. Gracias Luna. 

Now a days...Candles lit. Meditation music playing softly. I go to bed when my body says it is time, wake up when it felt right, nap in the middle of the day, and wear whatever I want, which was not always something meant for public viewing. Perfection.

It was just me and my little dog Chinook, who thinks this arrangement is perfect as long as snacks are involved.

I’ve recently moved marinas, and the view alone feels like a small piece of heaven. I’m no longer wedged between boats, boxed in without a view. My entire backyard is water now, the kind of view that slows your nervous system down whether you want it to or not. Someone pinch me please. 

And somewhere in those hectic months, a truth surfaced that I hadn’t consciously thought much of before.

I don’t actually want a relationship right now.

Not because I’m wounded. Not because I’m bitter. Not because I’ve closed myself off to love. But because my life feels full.

We talk a lot about the new-age woman, the one who doesn’t want marriage or children, the one rewriting the old scripts. But we don’t talk enough about the woman who wants the label of “single”, people think that label implies a lack, a relentless search, a waiting room, a temporary state. Nope. Not for me anyways.

I’ve spent my life watching people who cannot be alone for even a moment. They move from relationship to relationship like musical chairs, never letting the seat cool. They replace partners before the last toothbrush is gone, can’t eat alone, can’t travel alone, can’t sit with themselves long enough to hear their own thoughts. It’s not love they’re chasing so much as distraction from facing themself, and I don’t judge it. Not my monkeys, not my circus. 

I’ve felt more alone with people than I ever have by myself. 

Five years ago, I left Canada with very little attachment to who I thought I was supposed to be. I wasn’t chasing romance or reinvention. I was chasing truth. I wanted to know who I was without being that "sailboat chick", a young mother, or my face on a Real Estate "For Sale" sign. 

I did open my heart again here in Mexico for a year. I learned a lesson I apparently needed to learn again the hardest way possible. I hadn’t yet learned how to balance compassion with self-respect and boundaries. The empath in me slipped easily into a mothering role, and that dynamic ended exactly how those dynamics usually end, deep pain, and this time, a restraining order. 

That’s not poetic. That’s real.

I know now, what people have been telling me since my 30's. "Love yourself Chanty." - "What do you mean love myself? I DO!" I did not infact love myself. Loving yourself these days looks like saying, no thank you, not making excuses for others because "its not their fault they are that way", and walking away with confidence and grace, removing people and spaces that don't feel good for me. 

So when people ask why I’m single. I don’t feel defensive. I feel proud. I’m not lonely. I’m content. I’m safe. I’m not interested in trading my peace for unpredictable company.

And yes, there’s the practical question people like to dance around. Desire exists. I’m not pretending it doesn’t. But let’s be honest for a moment. Batteries are reliable. Sold in bulk. They don’t lie, gaslight or manipulate anyone. For now, they’re doing just fine. Self-love right? haha

I believe in real connected love. I really do. When I see it, when I feel it, I’ll recognize it without needing to convince myself or question it. It's already all around me. 

The universe is conspiring in my favor.

I don’t need a partner for money, procreation, companionship, purpose, or validation. Those were old-world reasons for coupling, and they don’t apply to the life I’ve built. Not to mention, I can sail my own ship, literally! ;) 

When I choose partnership again, it will be because my life is genuinely better with that person in it, not because I was trying to fill a silence or fit into the mold.

Until then, I’ll light my candles, listen to my music, watch the water from the stern of my sailboat, and fall asleep under the moon knowing that, I didn’t abandon myself just to show someone how much I can care.

That’s the love story. Self-Love.

A woman who no longer confuses presence with connection, or peace with emptiness.

I didn’t close my heart. I simply learned how to live inside it.

I chose me. I am the love of my life. 

What I know now is this: self-love isn’t a withdrawal from the world. It’s an education in how to belong to it more honestly. When we learn to honor ourselves, we learn how to love others safely, and how to be loved without abandoning who we are. 

If you’re walking this path too, I’m glad you’re here.

Chanty 

XO