A Memo to My Future Self
Written on July 26, 2026
Why I Wrote This
I'm writing this from a place of heartbreak. Not because my relationship with Brian is ending. Not because we've stopped loving each other. But because I've come face to face with something I could no longer ignore.
Over the past several weeks, Brian and I have experienced a series of ruptures, repairs, and difficult conversations that have continually invited me to look inward. One conversation, in particular, landed deeply. Brian shared that when I become emotionally activated, he often experiences pressure, imposition, or control. He also shared that he sometimes longs to be held through his own activation in the way he has learned to hold others.
Whether or not I agreed with every conclusion wasn't the point. What mattered was what his words stirred inside me. I found myself questioning my worth.
Wondering if I was enough.
Wondering if I was capable of loving well.
Wondering if I had somehow become "the heavy one" in our relationship.
For a moment, I even wondered if the most loving thing I could do was quietly step back so I wouldn't burden him. That fear wasn't really about Brian. It was about me. It revealed how quickly my nervous system could translate relational feedback into a story about my value.
As I sat with that pain instead of trying to fix it, another realization quietly emerged. I hadn't lost myself.
My work still mattered.
📝Sweet Surrender still mattered.
📝WorldKam still mattered.
My friendships, my clients, my creativity, and my purpose were all still alive.
But something more subtle had shifted. My inner orientation had slowly begun revolving around my relationship. Not because Brian asked me to. Not because I consciously chose it. Simply because love has gravity. That isn't the problem. The problem is forgetting that I have a center of gravity of my own.
Then something unexpected happened.
A conversation with Chase reflected back observations about Brian that confirmed what I had already been sensing. It wasn't about proving Brian right or wrong. It was about recognizing my own pattern. I realized that I had been unconsciously organizing parts of my inner world around preserving closeness instead of first asking myself what was true for me.
That realization didn't make me want to love Brian less. It made me want to love myself enough to remain fully present inside the relationship. I don't want to become more distant. I don't want to become more independent for independence's sake. I don't want to protect myself by wanting him less.
I simply want to remember where I stand while loving someone deeply.
Because this isn't only about Brian. This is about every meaningful relationship I will ever have. It is about practicing the very thing I have spent years discovering through Sweet Surrender:
That love is deepest when two whole people continually choose one another—not because either has become the center of the other's life, but because each has remained rooted in themselves.
This memo is my promise to remember that.
This is not a story about losing myself.
It is a story about remembering where I stand while loving someone deeply.
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For a while, I believed that because I was still building Sweet Surrender, growing WorldKam, facilitating transformative experiences, nurturing friendships/connections, and continuing my own path, I hadn't lost myself.
And in many ways, that is true. I didn't stop becoming. But I did notice something quieter. Without intending to, my inner compass began orienting itself around my relationship with Brian. Not in everything. But in enough moments that it became my default.
When weekends approached... When plans were being made... When I was activated... When I was wondering what I wanted...
My first instinct often became: "How does this affect Brian and us?" instead of "What feels true for me, and how does Brian naturally fit into that?"
That subtle shift matters. Love has gravity. It is natural to want to spend time with the people we love. There is nothing wrong with wanting closeness. There is nothing wrong with wanting to maximize time together.
But love is healthiest when it remains a conscious choice—not an unconscious orientation. This is not about spending less time with Brian. It is about making sure that every "yes" to him is also a "yes" to myself. I don't want proximity to become my measure of security. More time together does not necessarily create more intimacy. Sometimes intentional presence creates far more connection than endless availability.
I want our time together to feel chosen. Alive. Mutual. Not automatic.
When I notice myself organizing around Brian, I will gently pause and ask:
What is true for me today? Not... What would make Brian happiest? Not... What will keep us feeling close? Not... What will prevent me from missing out?
Instead...
What genuinely feels alive for me?
What do I have capacity for?
What kind of day do I want to create?
What is my body asking for?
Then... From that place... How would I like to invite Brian into my life today?
This is not independence for the sake of independence. Nor is it emotional distancing. It is relational sovereignty. Not the version I wrote about. The version I now have the opportunity to practice.
Love does not ask me to leave myself. And sovereignty does not ask me to leave love. Both can exist at the same time.
I also want to remember this:
I do not become a better partner by making Brian the center of my emotional orientation. Nor do I become a better partner by pretending I don't want him.
My work is neither dependence nor detachment. My work is self-trust. To trust that my desires matter. My limits matter. My curiosity matters. My friendships matter. My purpose matters. My body matters. My joy matters.
Not because they compete with love. But because they are the very things that allow me to love from wholeness.
There will be days when my nervous system whispers:
"Spend more time together."
"Don't miss the opportunity."
"If you're not there, you'll be left behind."
"If he connects elsewhere, you'll lose something."
When those voices arise, I don't need to fight them. I simply need to recognize them for what they are: A nervous system searching for certainty. I can thank that part of me for trying to protect what I love. And then gently return to the question:
What feels true for me?
I no longer want my choices to be organized by fear. Not fear of missing out. Not fear of losing connection. Not fear of not being enough. I want them to be organized by desire.
The desire to create.
To move.
To facilitate.
To rest.
To dance.
To write.
To build.
To love.
To spend time with Brian because I genuinely want to—not because my nervous system believes proximity is the only path to safety. The relationship I want is not one where either of us becomes the other's center. It is one where we each have a center of our own, and from that place, we continually choose one another.
That is freedom. That is intimacy. That is mutual becoming. 📝Mutual Becoming Through Relational Sovereignty
If I ever forget, remember this: Coming home to myself does not require walking away from love.
It simply asks that before I reach for someone else's hand... I first remember I am already standing on my own feet. From there, I can love with open hands instead of grasping ones.
And from there, every time I choose Brian, it will not be because I am afraid of losing him. It will be because, once again, I have freely chosen him from the deepest, truest place within myself.
📝Returning to Myself - The Practice
📝Beyond Returning: A Relational Practice