When Love Knocks...

will you answer?

‘When love knocks, will you answer?”

This question came through me this morning as I was walking, talking to the trees and the wind and the earth, sipping my warm cup of chai. And then, like Spirit has a way of doing, the song Learning to Breathe by Switchfoot began to play on my phone the very moment that thought arrived.

"I could use a fresh beginning too.
All my regrets are nothing new.
So this is my way that I say I need you.
This is my way that I’m learning to breathe,
that I’m learning to crawl."

Something in those words felt like they were written for me, for now.

The song as a mirror

The song isn’t about perfection. It’s about surrender.
It’s about learning how to breathe again after life has knocked the wind out of you.

And for me, the wind has been knocked out many times through toxic relationships. Let’s just say I haven’t had the best luck in love.

Me when relationships ended.

"I never thought that I would fall like that.
Never knew that it could hurt this bad."

Isn’t that what love asks of us?
To fall.
To risk the ache of it.
To crawl, to stumble, to gasp for air, and still open our hearts to abundant skies.

But this time I am not falling blindly into nothing, I am grounded and rooted in love for myself.

The horoscope that found me

Then, like every morning, I read my horoscope. It said:

“The calls might be coming from inside the house. Collaboration is required. You are not a bad person for needing to feel loved. Practice longing without expectation of satisfaction. The theme of your life right now is to escape the rut through exciting and challenging constructive conversations.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little actually A LOT .

The Universe wasn’t being subtle.

Too many synchronicities.

Too much clarity.

It was as if Spirit was saying:

You are allowed to long.
You are allowed to want love.
You are allowed to need another human.

The Body Knows!

So I asked for a sign.

I wrote two little papers: yes and no.
One in front of me. One behind me.

I closed my eyes. I asked my body to lean. Forward or back.

I took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

The answer was yes.

Yes, this is love. Yes, this is opening.

And what’s wild is that when I did this before with someone else—the answer was no. Clear as day. My body has never lied to me when I let it speak.

But Then, the Fear

The fear rose immediately after.

Not because it was wrong
but because it mattered.

Even though I felt relieved by the yes, every part of me also wanted it to be no… so I could run away. Because it’s easier to run than to risk being hurt.

And yet, love is risk. Love is paradox.
I desire love. I desire a partner. I desire a relationship.
And with that desiring comes the ache of fear: fear of hurt, rejection, abandonment.

But this fear is not a sign of “not healed enough.”

It’s the nervous system’s way of saying: This is alive. This is real. This is big.

If it didn’t matter, I would feel indifferent. But love is not indifference.

Love is trembling.
Love is risking.
Love is learning to breathe again.

Not in the toxic, survival-based ways I’ve known before.
But in the texture of conscious love.

And conscious love feels foreign
because it feels calm. It feels safe. It feels steady.

This person does not bring chaos into my world.

His energy makes me feel safe, not confused.

What rises in me isn’t about him, it’s about me meeting the parts of myself still afraid of being hurt. And yet those parts don’t mean I should run. They mean I’m being initiated into expansion, into risking again, into deepening.

This journey isn’t perfect. It takes courage to risk. But even if I fall, even if ache arises, I know the truth:
I can always return to myself and tend to the parts of me that tremble.

So here’s what I know:

The song is reminding me that love makes us new, even when we feel shaky.

The horoscope is telling me that collaboration, rule-breaking, and longing are required medicine.

My body’s yes is a truth deeper than my mind can reason.

Maybe this person is the one I’m meant to walk with. Maybe he isn’t.

But Spirit’s real question isn’t: Is he the one forever?

Spirit’s question is:

Will you answer when love knocks, even if it terrifies you?

So here is a poem from my Higher Self

When love comes,
it will not ask if you are ready.
It will arrive like breath after drowning,
like a sky that spills open after rain.

You will tremble.
You will ache.
You will feel.

You will question if this much light
can be trusted after so much shadow.

But your body will know.
It will lean yes.

And fear will not be your enemy
it will be the drumbeat of your aliveness.

Love is not a finish line.
Love is the inhale you risk,
and the exhale you surrender,
again and again.

A question for you

So I ask you now, the way I ask myself:

When love knocks at your door
when it rises in your body like both fear and breath
will you answer?

P.S. Let me be brutally honest with you, this work is not a romantic comedy. There are no perfectly timed kisses in the rain or montages with acoustic guitar in the background (though if the Universe wants to cue Switchfoot for me one more time, I won’t complain).

What this actually feels like is:

deeply uncomfortable, sometimes painful, full of doubt, full of clarity and riddled with moments where my brain is like,

“Wait—am I doing this right, or should I just get a cat and call it a day?”

But here’s the paradox: the more clarity Spirit gives me, the more fear shows up. Not to stop me but to ask if I can expand enough to hold it.

And that’s the work. To breathe through the trembling. To let the synchronicities arrive like little cosmic winks. To show my body, again and again, that it is safe to love even here, even now. So no, it’s not like the rom com movies. But honestly? I’d take messy, alive, trembling love over a predictable script any day.

Me saying yes to love, yes to expansion while still feeling fear.

With love, messy courage and trembling hands

(because who actually has it all figured out?),

Mishell