Not Here to Be Loved. Here to Be Seen.
- Karen Di Gloria
- Aug 22
- 4 min read
Updated: Aug 24
The lessons my soul spoke through lovers, and the shadow work I could no longer ignore.
They all said the same thing.
Different voices. Different timing.
Same lines, same soul signatures.
“I was shy as a kid.”
“I never knew how to talk to girls.”
“I needed to drink to feel confident.”
“I’m content—why aren’t you?”
“You’re perfect.”
At first, I thought these were just coincidences.
Then I called it a pattern.
But now—I see it for what it really was:
A message from my soul, spoken through the mouths of lovers.
The Mirror: What They Said About Me
Each relationship felt like a new beginning . . . until it didn’t.
Until I started to feel that feeling. The misalignment.
The quiet but persistent knowing underneath the noise.
I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to give it a chance.
I always wanted to believe in their potential.
But their words—different men, different times—echoed the same red flags:
“I thought you could fix me.”
“I know I’m a project, but I want this.”
“I know I’m king baby, but I’m getting there.”
And still . . . I stayed.
Because they also said we were soulmates.
Power couple energy. Destiny. A match made in heaven.
And part of me wanted so badly to believe in that.
Even when another part knew better.
They didn’t just say I was perfect.
They told me I was everything they had ever wanted.
That they had never wanted to marry anyone—until me.
That they had never loved like this before.
And in retrospect, I wonder—
Did I stay because it felt good to be needed?
Did I stay because it felt good to be adored?
Because being the one they couldn’t imagine losing
made me feel safe, worthy, irreplaceable?
Maybe I wasn’t just afraid of leaving them.
Maybe I was afraid of leaving the version of myself
that their worship created.
The Soul Doesn’t Lie. It Repeats.
With each passing relationship,
with each heartbreak, apology, and unraveling,
I’ve begun to believe:
We’re not here to get to know others.
We’re here to remember ourselves—through others.
To see who we are when we touch another soul.
Every relationship?
It was a portal to a deeper part of me.
Each man mirrored a part of my shadow:
My desire to be chosen without having to ask.
My habit of over-functioning so I wouldn’t be abandoned.
My addiction to potential over presence.
My discomfort with contentment that lacked depth.
The Role I Played
If I’m honest, I didn’t love them for who they were.
I loved who they could be.
Who they might become—if they healed.
If they saw what I saw.
I wasn’t choosing reality—I was choosing hope.
And hope isn’t a stable foundation for love.
It’s a beautiful prayer, but a terrible contract.
So while I blamed them for being unavailable,
emotionally dulled, or stuck in old stories—
I had to look at my own:
Why did I choose people I needed to rescue?
Why did I feel safer around emotional unavailability?
Why did their contentment irritate me?
Why did their praise make me feel unseen?
Because I wasn’t being loved for the messy, questioning, needing, transforming me.
I was being loved for the idea of perfection.
And I was playing the part.
Shadow Work Isn’t a Trend. It’s a Burial Ground.
This work?
It’s not aesthetic.
It’s not a quote on Instagram.
It’s waking up to the role you play.
It’s looking at the grief behind your attraction.
It’s peeling back the patterns and asking:
“Where am I still trying to earn love?”
“What part of myself do I hand over in order to feel chosen?”
“Why do I keep mistaking potential for presence?”
Shadow work is seeing the parts of you that kept saying yes
when your body was screaming no.
It’s watching the replay of conversations where you twisted yourself
to maintain peace that wasn’t even real.
It’s remembering the moment someone said,
“I thought you could fix me,”
and realizing you were the one trying to be the medicine
for a wound that wasn’t yours to heal.
The Difference Between Being Loved and Being Seen
Love feels good. It’s intoxicating to be told you’re perfect, irreplaceable, everything someone ever wanted.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Being loved often meant being adored for the role I played, not the reality of who I was.
Being loved meant being placed on a pedestal that I had to hold up with my own exhaustion.
Being loved meant being kept for the ways I filled their emptiness — not for the ways I carried my own.
Being seen is different. Being seen is messy, inconvenient, human.
It’s when someone notices not only your light but your shadow — your doubts, your needs, your grief — and stays anyway.
That’s why I say we’re not here to be loved. We’re here to be seen.
Because love without truth isn’t really love at all — it’s fantasy.
We’re Not Here to Be Loved. We’re Here to Be Seen.
And that’s the real truth I’m beginning to live:
I’m not here to be adored for my light alone.
I’m here to be seen for my depth. My movement. My shadows.
Every partner was a messenger.
Not of my worth.
But of my work.
Every “You’re perfect” was an invitation to say,
No. I’m not. And that’s okay.
If any part of this touched something inside you, I’d love to know.
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In compassion and clarity,
Karen Di Gloria🔮
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