The journey of spiritual enlightenment is often romanticized as a path to peace and fulfillment, but in reality, the journey can feel excruciatingly painful. As the veil is lifted, the comfortable illusions that once shaped reality begin to crumble. The space between the old self—built on conditioned beliefs and societal expectations—and the new self, still forming its truth, can feel like an abyss.
It’s a time of profound confusion. What once felt stable no longer makes sense. There is a deep heaviness and exhaustion that comes with unraveling false beliefs and reprogramming the mind to accept a new truth. The process of healing is demanding—mentally, emotionally, and even physically. Transition is simply an uncomfortable process, much like growing pains or the soreness that follows a deep workout. The weight isn’t the burden of transformation itself—it’s the discomfort of shedding what no longer serves you and stepping into the unknown, waiting for a reality that aligns with your newfound awareness. It is the light of truth exposing shadows that were once accepted as normal.
And we can’t rush the process. Just like a scraped knee needs time to create new skin, healing requires patience. The pain and discomfort are temporary, part of the body’s and soul’s natural repair system. Give it time, and soon enough, you’ll be whole again—stronger than before. What feels overwhelming today will eventually become a distant memory, a scar that reminds you of how far you’ve come, rather than a wound that continues to ache.
The Longing for Illusions
At times, it may seem easier to retreat back into illusion, to cling to the comfort of the known rather than face the emptiness left behind by what is now seen as false. There’s a certain appeal in pretending—pretending that a distant lover still cares, pretending that an absent friend is still present, pretending that the job that drains the soul is necessary for survival. But illusions, no matter how comforting, are not truth.
Holding onto the idea of love when love itself is absent is no different than pretending an empty cup holds tea and convincing oneself that it quenches thirst. An absent lover is not love. An imaginary glass of tea is not tea.
What if the pain of clinging to something that isn’t real is actually an invitation to examine the self? What if the absence of love in one’s life is simply a reflection of the absence of self-love within?
The Childhood Stories That Shape Us
Imagine a child dropping an open gallon of milk on the kitchen floor. The parent, already drowning in stress from a long day at work, unpaid bills stacking up, and their own unresolved wounds, explodes in anger.
"Why can’t you be more careful? Look what you did! You always make a mess!"
The child, still in their formative years, doesn’t see an overwhelmed adult losing their temper under financial strain. The child sees hatred. The child absorbs the message: I am a burden. I am too much trouble. Maybe they wish I didn’t exist.
And so, the belief forms. Not from truth, but from a moment of misunderstanding.
Or picture a young child sitting by the window on their birthday, waiting for their mother to arrive. They don’t ask for much—just to feel seen, to be acknowledged, to know that their existence is special to someone. But the hours pass, and no familiar footsteps ever come to the door. The day fades into night, and what should have been a celebration becomes just another day, void of recognition, leaving an emptiness that lingers long after childhood ends.
As an adult, the reality becomes clear: the mother was struggling, lost in the depths of addiction. Her absence was not a reflection of her child’s worth—it was her body’s desperate attempt to regulate itself. Addiction had consumed her, pulling her away from the people she loved the most.
But as a child, none of that is visible. The child sees only one thing: I was not important enough for her to show up.
These moments—seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of life—become the foundation of how we view ourselves. They form the silent beliefs that whisper:
"I am not good enough.""I am not worthy of love.""I am forgettable.""If I were better, they would have stayed."
And so, these false narratives follow us into adulthood, shaping the way we experience love, connection, and self-worth.
The Mirror of Absence
What we attract is often a mirror of what we believe about ourselves. A person who clings to an absent partner may unknowingly be playing both roles in their own life—longing for connection from one person while simultaneously withholding it from another. They may be running hot and cold, engaging yet retreating, because a part of them fears fully surrendering to love.
This isn’t about the absent person; they are simply a character cast in the story of one’s deeper wounds. The real question is: What part of the self feels unworthy of love?
Healing requires going inward—back to the moments where the belief of unworthiness was first planted. Was it a childhood moment of being scolded for an innocent mistake? A birthday spent waiting for a parent who never showed up? A series of disappointments that taught the subconscious mind that love is inconsistent, conditional, or just out of reach?
Rewriting the Narrative
With time and awareness, these false narratives can be rewritten. Just as a child sees a parent’s frustration as personal rejection, an adult can recognize that the reaction had nothing to do with them. The parent wasn’t withholding love; they were struggling with their own internal battles.
The same is true of abandonment. When a person is absent at critical moments, it may feel like a direct statement of unworthiness, but in reality, their absence is a reflection of their own struggles, not a measure of the value of the one left waiting.
Yet even with this understanding, the emotional wounds remain. Intellectually recognizing "I am lovable" is not the same as feeling loved. And here lies the challenge—how does one fill the void left by discarded illusions?
The Slow Work of Healing
Healing isn’t an instant transformation. Just as years of unhealthy eating result in weight gain that cannot be undone in a single day of dieting, years of absorbing messages of unworthiness cannot be erased with a single realization. It is the daily, deliberate work of peeling away layers of self-doubt and replacing them with truth.
There is no magic pill, no shortcut to healing. It requires consistent effort—reminding oneself, over and over again, that the perceived absence of love in the past does not define the capacity to receive love in the present.
The process can feel cruel. Awareness brings the painful realization that much of the suffering endured was self-inflicted through false beliefs. But self-blame only continues the cycle of self-punishment. The goal is not to berate oneself for past blindness—it is to move forward with clarity and self-compassion.
Embracing the Light
The process of shedding illusions is not meant to break us—it is meant to free us. The emptiness we fear is not a void but a clean slate. Transformation is painful, but it is also a gift.
Like a caterpillar dissolving into nothingness before emerging as a butterfly, true change requires complete surrender to the process. The past self—the one built on illusion—must dissolve so that the true self can emerge.
Yes, it takes time. Yes, it will hurt. But when the weight of falsehood is lifted, when the self is no longer bound by invisible chains of old wounds, there is only freedom.
And in that freedom, love is no longer something chased or longed for—it is something that simply is.
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