The Man Who Taught Me How to Love Without Losing Myself

I have had many loves in my life — all frantic, characteristically bipolar, clingy, wildly codependent, and dangerously self-damaging. But when Mr. California came into my life, the entire dynamic changed — not by choice, but by circumstance.

I was just coming out of a toxic marriage. My ex was a drug addict, schizophrenic, and volatile. I had done everything I could to escape that relationship: I got sober, served time in jail because of him, became homeless, and somehow managed to rebuild my life. And still, I couldn’t let go. It took my incredible parents stepping in and putting him on a bus back to NYC for me to finally be free. I thank God for them every single day.

Ironically, when he left, the grief hit me like a tidal wave. The tears poured out. The sleepless nights came. The what if I can change him fantasies haunted me endlessly. In the middle of that despair, I found myself pouring my heart out on a support forum, trying to soothe my mind through the wreckage of grief.

That’s when Mr. California entered my life.

It was the simplest thing. One message:
“I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I hope you get some sleep. I’m here if you want to talk.”

From that moment, six months of steady messaging followed. In that time, I began to find myself again. I started dressing up and going out. I made new friends, became involved in my community, found a great job, and — for the first time in a long while — started sleeping again. I’m not saying all of that happened because of him, but he certainly contributed.

Our messages were long, thoughtful, and endless. They became the thing I looked forward to every night after full, busy days. And then one day, after six months of talking to a mystery man while I remained a mystery woman, I took a leap and sent a picture. To my surprise, he sent one back.

It absolutely floored me.

This man was stunning. A mix of Mexican and English heritage, dark hair, a perfectly shaped beard — and those eyes. Big, brown, beautiful eyes you could completely get lost in. This man I had been talking to for half a year was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Honestly? A Mexican version of William Riker from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Total swoon.

When he saw my picture, the attraction wasn’t just mutual — it was electric. Texting soon moved to Discord. Then came phone calls. Then video calls. Then phone sex and cam sex, which, quite frankly, was better than any physical sex I’d ever had. It wasn’t just intense — it was devotional. It was immersive. It was magic.

Beyond that, there was something deeper. Because of all those months of talking, we already knew each other inside and out. Our interests aligned effortlessly. And most importantly, he encouraged me to speak with the priest at the church I attended and consider joining.

My faith is deeply important to me. One of the most positive impacts Mr. California has had on my life is his own profound faith. As a former altar boy and Eagle Scout, he carries a strong sense of duty, honor, and moral grounding. I had been an outsider at my church for a long time and never truly considered joining. His encouragement gave me the courage to meet with the priest and explore that path.

One year later, I am not only a member of the church — I am part of a Legion that serves the elderly and needy weekly. I am now on the path to becoming a Eucharistic minister, something that has brought me a sense of joy and purpose beyond anything I ever imagined.

But there was a dark cloud looming over us.

In late 2024, I experienced a violent, explosive manic episode that shattered my life and destroyed my relationship with Mr. California. From across the distance, he felt helpless and deeply wounded by what I was going through. He blocked me, believing he would never hear from me again.

And yet — like sunlight breaking through a storm — emails began again after I was released from the hospital three months later. Three months apart after everything we shared: the love, the intimacy, the promises that couldn’t be fulfilled. Slowly, cautiously, communication resumed.

Here’s the paradox: after more than a year of reconnecting, I am still blocked on his phone.

Anyone on the outside would say, “Just leave him. Block him back. Move on.” But what happened instead was unexpected. I learned how to love from a healthier place because of the block.

We email. I leave voicemails. He calls me. We spend hours on the phone together watching movies, talking, bonding. We exchange gifts on holidays and birthdays. This past Christmas, he sent me beautiful things — including a silk robe in my favorite color that made me feel radiant and desired.

And still, the block remains.

I spiral. I cry. I curse the universe. I ache. I get angry at him for shutting me out like that.

However —

I have learned how to live my life outside of him. Fully.

I go out with friends. I spend time with other people when he’s quiet. I write. I read. I watch my shows. I spend time with my parents. I engage in my faith and my community. None of which I was doing last year when we were recklessly in love.

He has a complicated life. Our relationship couldn’t survive me calling and texting constantly, collapsing into him.

What I’ve learned — and what has become one of the most positive transformations in my life — is that I am learning to love and be independent at the same time. The block broke my codependent patterns. It stopped the clinging, the consuming, the self-destruction. It taught me that love can breathe.

For someone like me — with bipolar chaos, poor impulse control, and a history of erasing boundaries — I needed the block. It taught me that love doesn’t have to consume me to be real.

Yes, the spirals still come. Not being able to reach him unless he reaches out hurts deeply at times. But this is the lesson God is teaching me: how to become an independent woman. I live on my own. He is 3,000 miles away. What good does it do to ache on the phone all day when we can’t yet be together, when instead I can live fully — with my friends, my parents, my church, and the work I’m called to do?

This — right here, even with the block intact — is where God wants me. To grow. To build. To become someone who can sustain love without losing herself.

And honestly?

The block won’t be there forever.

He is changing.
I am changing.
And together, we are growing — slowly, imperfectly, but honestly.

The impact he has had on my life has been nothing short of astounding.

I used to believe love meant losing myself. Now I know it means standing on my own feet while still choosing someone. That lesson didn’t come easily, but it came honestly — and it’s changed everything.

Stay tuned.