After the Rain: Gentle Reminders for Healing, Courage, and Self-Love

by Alexandra Elle

There were many years where I’d convinced myself that love didn’t love me and that I would be alone. I didn’t feel worthy of love because, deep down, loving my entire self felt like a task I couldn’t quite complete. I had people in my life candidly tell me that women with children were a single man’s worst nightmare, and that no man would want to raise another man’s kid.

And it felt okay, because I had started the process of falling madly and deeply in love with myself, a practice that took a lot of time and energy. I know that the work I did on myself opened me to the experience of falling deeply in love with the right person and gave me the tools to make that relationship work.

Love requires vulnerability. For me, it continues to be a heart-opening experience that constantly shifts how I see the world and myself. Giving myself permission to stretch, soften, and let things grow organically reminds me that I can change and make space for joy in ways that I had never imagined.

You are deserving of opening your heart and letting love in. Don’t let the hurt of your past or the doubts of others deter you from building the life you long for.

LOVE MEDITATION Think about what your love would taste like if it were a flavor. What would you like it to teach you on your journey toward it?

And not in the throes of trying to find validation and love in empty places.

My heart desired to live for a purpose larger than I could then imagine.

Facing my healing head-on has been a point of contention and growth that I’ve learned to find gratitude in. Pieces from my past still sting, but I wouldn’t have found my light without their undeniable presence. There were moments early on in motherhood when I thought I was doomed, cursed even. I had intense moments of guilt and constant worries that my choice to bring a new life into the world, under less-than-ideal circumstances, had set my child and me up for destruction and failure. I was terrified that I would face a tough time breaking the cycle of loss and longing. No one taught me how to love or be loved. I didn’t have anyone holding my hand and walking me through what nurturing looked like. Nevertheless, I was determined to fill in the blanks. Facing

For years, people looked at me with eyes of pity, and I looked at myself and felt humiliated. I allowed shame to engulf me. I was imprisoned emotionally, and the only way out was to stop playing the victim to my circumstances. I had to stop blaming outside sources for my sense of loss, lack of community, and misfortune. A large part of my self-work was taking accountability for my choices as an individual and understanding that I had the power to set the tone for my life. I had the resilience to be who I was working so hard to be for myself and my daughter. Rewriting my story and fine-tuning my narrative was up to me.

Building a sense of belonging became a priority in my journey through unfolding.

That no one would want to be a family with us because “Who wants a single mother, anyway?” It would have been easy to believe those lies and get distracted from the truth. Becoming who I wanted to be, and not adhering to what negative and external voices were saying, taught me how to stand in my power. To lean into it, even without having the emotional support that I desired. I learned to support myself in the ways I thought others should. I was putting so much pressure on outside influences to bring me joy that I didn’t realize my ability to be self-sustaining. That process wasn’t easy. Despite feelings of loss and loneliness, it was essential for me to stand alone and figure out how I was going to get what I wanted in life.

The path to becoming was painfully tender, but I learned to trust myself enough to be someone I was told I wouldn’t be. Moving through the process of change was a challenge. There were days when I knew I couldn’t do it. It was too hard and big and scary to reroute. I felt engulfed by loneliness some days, like I was standing in shallow water alone calling out for help because I didn’t know which way to swim. Independence was testing me; I could taste freedom at the tip of my tongue. Growth demanded all of my attention and more than just good intent. Meaning well and doing well are not synonymous. I was determined to prepare myself for the next chapter in my story. Giving my daughter the home, attention, affection, and life I didn’t have was my driving force. Doing better and different from what I’d known for so long was my North Star, my reason for releasing and expanding.