When love heals the body

I’ve learned something about myself: when my soul is alight with love, my body follows.

My cells respond. My healing accelerates. My body remembers what life feels like.

This week, I’ve felt the proof.

Very little need for the crutch in the house.

Toe cramping almost gone.

Movement returning with more ease than I’ve felt in a long while.

But here’s the key: I know it’s not another person pouring medicine into me.

It’s not romance that “fixes” me.

It’s me — when I am living and working in my highest passion, when I am creating from love, when my soul is awake.

That’s when my body reacts. That’s when healing becomes more than physical.

In the past, this truth came with a cost.

Because I am a healer, I have often attracted people who wanted my guidance and nurturing. Soul contractual lessons, no doubt. But I’ve missed the cut-off point too many times — the moment when giving tips into self-sacrifice. The moment when love becomes depletion.

And so, my body would dim again.

It’s taken me years to see the difference: love is not dependency. Love is not me carrying another person’s growth. Love is the fire of creation, the spark of alignment, the resonance that reminds my cells to live.

Which brings me back to a question I’ve been circling lately:

Is there someone who can meet me at this level?

Someone conscious, awake, grounded in their own knowing — so I don’t have to explain, translate, or pour endlessly into their healing?

Someone who can teach me, too, so the exchange is equal, alive, and reciprocal?

Because what I desire now isn’t to play teacher, rescuer, or guide.

What I desire is resonance.

A mirror for the person I am now — someone who holds their own medicine and meets me in the middle.

Love is my healer.

But conscious connection? That’s the next frontier my soul longs for.