I’m Strong, I’m Glowing, I’m Tired as Hell

I know I’m usually all rainbows and butterflies… but tonight, I’m feeling the darkness.

Is it the New Moon?

The week before my cycle?

Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been strong and smiling for too damn long.

Summer’s creeping in, and with it, the seven-year mark of being single.

Yup. SEVEN.

In that time, I’ve seen people fall in love, get married, have babies, and divorce—while my own love life has remained frozen in time.

No forward movement.

No epic love story.

Just me… journaling and surviving.

I remember begging God to help me get him out of my life.

I was done. Done crying myself to sleep. Done trying.

I made a deal:

“Help me remove him, and I’ll never ask for another man again. I swear. I can’t do this shit.”

And God delivered.

And then made damn sure I’d never want to go back—slapping me across the face with truth bricks every time I even thought about it.

Since then?

I’ve had the DMs from old classmates.

The cute coworkers inviting me to their Christmas parties.

The drunken confessions.

The guys who chase me just enough to make me hope—then vanish.

Ghosting. Lovebombing. Silence.

Men who say I’m amazing… then treat me like I’m optional.

And now? Now I get the ones who come into the Café, unload their trauma at my table, and tell me they need someone like me.

As if their emotional baggage is a turn-on. As if I’ve been waiting my whole life to play therapist in a latte-scented love story.

But nothing ever sticks.

Nothing ever feels right.

A few months ago, someone totally not my type walked in.

Two nights before, I had cried to my angel Grandma.

“Send me someone or I’m done believing in love.”

So when this guy ordered cold water in his Americano, I thought—that’s the sign.

That’s him.

And I tried to make him fit.

I made excuses.

Tried to mold myself around his avoidant personality.

Tried to hold on until I couldn’t anymore.

He was the final test.

The one who shocked me awake.

The one who finally made it click:

I deserve better than this.

I am actually worthy of better than this.

Since then?

I’ve poured my guts into journals and ChatGPT.

I’ve made rituals feel like a full-time job.

I’ve upleveled so hard, I barely recognize myself.

I vibe high.

I’m grateful.

I know my worth.

I am loving who I am.

I am confident.

I am beautiful.

I am the damn table.

I believe in love.

I believe it’s meant for me.

(Like, hello? I am way too much wife material to go unused!)

But also?

I’m fucking tired.

Tired of being strong.

Tired of doing everything alone.

Tired of being the breadwinner and the nurturer.

Tired of being the listener, the cheerleader, the one who makes others feel better—while I’m left drained and unseen.

What I crave isn’t delulu.

It’s real.

It’s raw.

It’s love that gives back what I so freely offer.

And tonight, I’m not feeling hopeful.

Tonight, I wonder: what if love isn’t meant for me?

I try to give myself the pep talk:

“If God has no one for me… can I still carry on?”

But honestly?

Some days the answer is:

Why should I?

Tonight, I’m mad.

Mad at the Universe for dangling cute men in front of me like carrots on a stick.

For making me believe—just maybe… this one.

Only to laugh as it yanks the dream away.

“Loser! You thought this was your turn?!”

Even my mom once said, “Maybe your life purpose is to show us how amazing life can be as a strong, independent single woman.”

And honestly? I wanted to throw in the towel right then and there.

Because I didn’t come here to be a role model for glowing alone.

I came here to love.

To build something.

To feel the weight of a man who wants me pressing into me—not just metaphorically, but as Carrie Bradshaw put it, literally.

So tonight?

I’m not running from the heaviness.

I’m sitting with it.

Feeling it.

Asking it what it wants to teach me.

And tomorrow—or maybe the day after—I’ll get back up and reset my crown.

Because this strong, tired, independent mama?

She’s still got shit to do.

And if you feel this ache, too…

If your heart also feels heavy sometimes?

Just know—you’re not alone.

We’re all exhausted.

Exhausted from having to be strong.

From leading. From doing the inner work.

From having to ask men for permission to be pursued.

We’re tired of holding our feminine energy hostage to make others feel safe.

So tonight, I give myself permission to be tired.

To not perform hope.

To let the cracks show.

And to trust that even here—in the ache, in the pause—

I am still worthy of the love I crave.

And so are you.

Deep breaths and coffee cheers,

Nadia