MY HIGHER SELF SPEAKS

To fall is not to lose ground. It is to land where you were always meant to.”

There’s a version of me that used to flinch when someone got too close.

I called it independence. He called it mystery. My therapist called it a trauma response. And maybe we were all a little right.

Because to trust someone deeply—not just with your stories, but with your body, your breath, your bare-boned being—that’s not romance. That’s revolution.

True trust isn’t soft. It’s not always a slow kiss in the morning or hands interlaced at sunset. Sometimes, it’s showing someone the chaos inside you and watching them step in anyway, barefoot, curious, unafraid.

I used to believe that falling meant losing myself.

But what if falling in love—real, conscious, terrifying love—is actually the first moment we find ourselves mirrored?

I learned that deep trust is not handing someone the map to your soul. It’s throwing the map away and walking beside them anyway. It’s: Here. This is the cave I’ve been hiding in. The words I’ve never said. The wounds that still sting. It’s whispering: Hold me anyway.

When I let myself fall completely, I didn’t hit the ground.I was caught—gently, fiercely, without condition.And in that moment, I realised: being held doesn’t mean being weak. It means being known.

To fall is not to break. It is to surrender to gravity—the gravity of love, of soul, of shared sacredness—and trust that someone will meet you at the bottom. Not to rescue you.But to fall too.

And my higher self? She doesn’t flinch anymore.She opens her arms and says: jump.

Because darling, some hearts weren’t meant to stay standing.Some hearts were built to fly on the way down.

—Josi