Living in My Truth: Why I Still Wait

"Anything you have to hide eventually hides you. I've learned that silence can sound like safety until it starts to suffocate your soul. Healing begins when you stop protecting what's hurting you and start addressing it––you can't heal what you don't confront."

I've always said I live in my truth–– the good, the bad, and the in-between. I may not be bold enough to shout it from a stage, but when I write, my words carry the same power as if i was speaking through a microphone. Honestly, if someone wants to sit and talk, I'll testify about what I've been through or write about it, because silence helps no one heal and you never know who needs to hear your journey to let them know they aren't alone and they should keep going even when we fall short.

And right now, my truth is this:

I'm single, I'm practicing abstinence again. And it's not easy!

Some days I feel strong, and other days... I'm burning with passion but have no man in sight.

It's not that I want to break it–– I don't. But I'd be lying if I said it's easy when my heart wants love and my body wants touch. I want marriage. I want family. I want to be chosen––but I want to be chosen right. Because I don't just want another body; I want covenant. And that means I have to stop leaning on my own understanding and trust God's timing. But free-will also has its consequences.

The Encounter with Mr. Nonchalant

My truth, this time, comes through a man I’ll call Mr. Nonchalant.

He’s attractive, mysterious, educated, and funny — the kind of man who draws you in without even trying.

But behind all that charm was emotional unavailability, sometimes wrapped in humor and subtle avoidance.

When we first met, it felt different at least for me.

Something in me recognized him — like my soul whispered,“Pay attention.”

Part of me even wondered, “Is this my husband?”

We spent time together. We talked deeply. He invited me to spend the holiday weekend with him — we almost crossed the line but didn’t. At the time, I thought that restraint was a sign of something sacred, that maybe this connection was meant to be.

But distance came, and truth followed. I found out he was still healing — maybe even still tied to his ex. I told him I didn’t want to be part of that, that he needed to let go and heal in order to start new. He told me he needed to “handle some things,” though I didn’t really understand what that meant. I even told him, “Come back to me and see if I’m still available.”

God also gave me a dream that I couldn’t share with him — maybe because revealing it too soon would interfere or rush timing. Eventually, I told him I would pray for him and walk with him, but deep down, I knew God was calling me to step back. So I did.

Months passed. No contact — just quiet distance and the occasional glimpse through social media.

Then, eventually, nearly a year later we met again in person. And I thought maybe God was bringing things full circle. But I got ahead of Him. I confused timing with confirmation.

We shared intimacy, and I broke my abstinence with a man I believed could’ve been my husband.

Looking back, I realize I wasn’t just drawn to him — I was drawn to the idea of what I thought God was doing. And that’s where discernment matters most: knowing when a connection is divine and when it’s a lesson. That’s a cost I didn’t account for.

It hurts when you think you’ve finally meet your soulmate but end up being checkmate.

What felt like a divine match started to feel like a game — and somewhere along the way, I slipped. The tables turned, the rules changed, and what felt like chess turned into checkers.

It’s like he checked me off his list and disappeared.

No contact.

I reached out once, but I wasn’t met with openness — and I’m not chasing a man.

Love Without Boundaries

I’ve always had the gift of loving without conditions. And that’s beautiful — until it crosses into self-abandonment. Loving someone unconditionally doesn’t mean ignoring their lack of readiness or unwillingness to commit.

The Samaritan woman at the well (John 4:4-26) reminds me of this truth. She had a past that could’ve disqualified her in the eyes of others, but Jesus met her with love seasoned with truth. He didn’t excuse her story — He redeemed it. That’s how I see myself now: not perfect, but redeemed enough to share.

Accountability & Repentance

I can’t tell my story without accountability. I chose intimacy. I thought God had sent me to him, but in truth, I got ahead of God. And when it all crumbled, I was left repenting, feeling the sting of falling into what I now see as a trap.

Nearly four months ago, I broke my abstinence. It wasn’t planned — it was a moment where desire spoke louder than discernment. The guilt that followed wasn’t just about the act; it was about realizing I’d stepped outside of what I promised God, myself, and my future husband.

There’s this song by Kranium called “Nobody Has to Know.”I’ll be honest — I still vibe with it. It’s smooth, catchy, the kind of song that just hits different when you’re in your feelings. But now, I actually understand the meaning behind it. It’s about keeping a relationship in secret — doing things behind closed doors that feel good in the moment but can’t stand in the light.

When I think back to that season of my life, I see how easily that message can slip into your own story. Temptation doesn’t always show up loud — it shows up quiet, soft, and convincing. It sounds like, “No one has to know.” And sometimes, that lie feels safer than the truth.

But what I’ve learned is, anything you have to hide eventually hides you. You start dimming your own light just to keep someone else comfortable in the dark.

But repentance is powerful.

1 John 1:9 reminds me:

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and purify us.”

So, I turned back to Him — again.

I started over — again.

That’s the beauty of grace: it doesn’t keep count; it keeps calling you home.

It reminds me to go and sin no more.

This doesn’t make me better than Mr. Nonchalant. It means I responded differently. I pray that he’s leaning on God too. Because this walk with Jesus? It’s hard for all of us.

The Subtle Ways I Punished Myself

Even after forgiveness, I caught myself punishing me––not loudly, but quietly:

• I replayed the story, trying to rewrite what already happened.

• Calling myself foolish instead of calling it a lesson.

• Wondering if my desire for marriage was even from God.

• Guarding my heart so tightly that no love, good or bad, could get through.

But Romans 8:1 says, "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

If God isn't condemning me, why should I?

Guarded vs. Discerning

I learned that there's a difference between being guarded and being discerning.

Guarding builds walls.

Discernment builds filters.

Jesus said in Matthew 7:16, "You will know them by their fruits."

That's discernment––looking past words and watching the fruit.

So now, my heart doesn't need to stop loving deeply––just needs to love wisely. To ask, "Am I loving them without betraying myself?"

I've also been doing a lot of self reflection, asking did I give Mr. Nonchalant the wrong impression? If I did, my intentions weren't to lead him astray or cause confusion. To be honest, maybe I call him Mr. Nonchalant because somewhere within me I'm just reflecting that behavior as well.

The Deeper Lesson

The prodigal son's story (Luke 15:11-32) reminds me that even when we wonder, the Father runs to meet us. That's my story too: I wandered, I chose wrong, but God ran to meet me with grace. And maybe that's the real testimony––I didn't lose my ability to love; I gained the wisdom to pair love with discernment.

Why I Still Wait

So yes, I'm still waiting. Still frustrated, sometimes hopeful, sometimes both. I don't always wait gracefully. Some days I cry, some days I pray, and some days I question if I'll even want marriage when it finally comes.

But every time I try to walk away from God, I remember––

I don't want to be anywhere else. Even in my weariness, He still working.

Even when I feel like He's silent, He's still speaking.

And maybe this whole time, I wasn't waiting for someone––I was waiting with Someone.

I was never waiting alone.

God was waiting for me to rest and wait on Him.

He keeps reminding me that my singleness, abstinence, loneliness, and longing aren't wasted seasons––they're shared ones.

I've been walking through this with God beside me, refining me, healing me, shaping my heart so it can love without losing myself. Its not passive waiting. It's active companionship. It's saying: "Even if I don't have a partner yet, I still have Presence. I'm not empty––I'm being filled." The wait was never just about husband or marriage––it was about deepening my relationship with the One who loves me most.

A Word of Encouragement

If you see yourself in my story, remember this: God’s grace doesn’t run out when we get ahead of Him. He meets us right where we stopped listening and walks us back home. There’s no fall so deep that His hand can’t reach, and no waiting season wasted when it’s shared with Him.

Closing thought

Mr. Nonchalant may never realize what he fumbled––and that's okay. My responsibility isn't to fix him or prove anything. My responsibility is to love without betraying myself, to rest in truth of God's forgiveness, and to trust that the desire for marriage wasn't a mistake––it was planted by Him, and in His time, it will bloom His way. Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's this: Loving others unconditionally means nothing if I don't also love myself the way God already does.