A Loud Knowing

 My birthday came and went quietly. No grand gestures. No unexpected magic. Just the simplicity of yard work, the soft joy of planting flowers, and the peaceful solitude of floating in the pool while the sun cast shadows across my shoulders, waiting for that storm to blow through.

My youngest surprised me with two coffee drinks. My counter part who I share my position with brought me decadent cupcakes and a card that resembled my princess pony. A card was left for me at work by the monthly regular table of twenty. One of the younger girls texted me a sweet birthday wish. And that was merely enough because I no longer expect anyone to bring me what I now know how to give myself. (I'll see the other kids and grandkids tonight)

But still... I felt it.
That ache.
That whisper of longing.
Not for material gifts or surprises but for the unexpected osmosis of connection. The kind that can’t be planned or scheduled. The kind that happens when two people really see each other in the quiet spaces.

And that’s when I realized this quiet day gave birth to a loud knowing.

I am 64. And I am not finished.
I still have more to create, more to teach, more to feel, and yes, more to love.

Yesterday, I thought of Bonnie and Clyde. Those fantasy people who cling to chaotic, thrilling, lawless devotion. However, no one discusses the aftermath. The way those kinds of relationships leave you fractured and frayed. How people mistake adrenaline for attachment. How trauma bonding gets romanticized while true intimacy is feared, rejected, or ignored. (quick run out the door or return belongings because a conversation can't be had) #fear #broken #damaged #patterns

I've lived it. I’ve loved men like Clyde, wounded, thrilling, unavailable. Men who wanted me close enough to be comforted but not close enough to be confronted. I played the part until the play collapsed.

But I’ve also seen men in my orbit who inspire stories, fictional or not, because they hold traits I once longed for. And still, I keep the lines clear: real vs. imagined. Because real life requires more than charm or shared scenery. It requires emotional stamina and self-examination that is uncomfortable.

I no longer mistake chemistry for compatibility.
I am no longer available for emotional crumbs.

What I need now is sacred.

I need a man who is emotionally present, not just physically nearby.
Someone who isn’t afraid of intelligent conversations and quiet mornings.
A partner who can love me without needing me to shrink.
Who recognizes that I’ve already raised children, I’m not here to raise a man’s emotional IQ, too.

And I will not settle.
Not again.

Not for someone who confuses my nurturing energy for permission to stay emotionally stunted.
Not for someone who labels connection as “friendship” to bypass commitment.
Not for someone who wants the performance of love but not the presence of it.

Too many I’ve loved were men who never learned how to love fully.
They equated intimacy with control.
Affection with avoidance.
They brought their confusion and expected me to make sense of it.

But I’m not here to decode anyone anymore.
I am here to build something true.

To those still hiding behind “not ready” and “I’m just not good at emotions,”
Ask yourself why you’re comfortable with lukewarm when real love could light you up.
Ask yourself why presence feels threatening.
Ask yourself what scares you about a woman who no longer accepts almost-love.

This isn’t bitterness.
It’s clarity.
And clarity is sacred.

I will never again be the woman who waits quietly in a relationship begging to be chosen.
If we can’t meet in honesty, we won’t meet at all.

I want peace, not pretense.
Soul, not strategy.
Depth, not drama.

So, to the one whose heart this may ping if you’ve been wondering what real intimacy feels like, it isn’t platonic distance, hiding in your mental chaos and occasional texts. It’s showing up, staying open, and choosing to be seen and to see.

I'm here, still open, still full of hope.
But I won’t carry someone else's confusion anymore.

I’ve done the hard work.
Now I’m waiting for someone who has too.

In my 64 years, I have been blessed with knowledge and awareness. Subtle does not have to be boring and peace does not have to equate to silence on the couch while watching TV.  

Leave the friend zone elsewhere... leave your emotional avoidance and your lack of connection in someone else's history. What I am building, creating, and dreaming of requires much, much more.

Happy Birthday to me!

Kitryn Marie