My Long Road to Real Love

My story is one of deep pain, unwavering hope, and a faith that refused to let me give up.

I was born into a Modern Orthodox family in Brooklyn in the mid-1980s. Outwardly, we kept kosher, observed Shabbat, and celebrated the Jewish holidays. But beneath the surface, my world looked very different.

As an infant, I suffered two strokes that left me paralyzed on my left side. Doctors said I would never walk or talk. But God had other plans. By 14 months, I was speaking in full sentences. I walked at age two. At four, I was diagnosed with complete hearing loss in one ear, yet by eighth grade, I was academically advanced in nearly all subjects.

Despite these small miracles, my childhood was marked by instability. By 18, I had lived in over 20 different places across New York and Florida. I faced poverty, abuse, and the emotional toll of my mother’s declining health and eventual addiction. I lived in survival mode.

And still—there were sparks of light. Kind teachers. Supportive mentors. A quiet but powerful inner voice that kept urging me, “Don’t give up.”

Beyond Survival: Resilience as a Spiritual Path

In social work, we talk about resilience—the ability to bounce back from adversity. But Judaism teaches something deeper. Resilience is not only surviving hardship, but growing from it—transforming pain into kedusha (holiness).

Resilience is not only surviving hardship, but growing from it—transforming pain into holiness.

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Hassidic movement, taught, “Every descent is for the sake of an ascent.” I clung to that teaching, especially during my darkest moments.

At 21, I began dating seriously, hoping to build a Torah-based home with someone kind and grounded. But the dating world often felt brutal. I experienced rejection, humiliation, and sometimes cruelty. There were moments I questioned my worth—but deep down, I knew: I was created with purpose, just as I am.

Holding Onto My Truth

In social work, we emphasize self-determination—the right to define your own path. I stopped listening to the voices that told me how I “should” look or live. Instead, I turned inward. I asked not what others wanted from me, but what God wanted for me.

I pursued education, becoming a Judaic Studies teacher and later a clinical social worker. I worked hard, supported my family, and helped protect my younger brother during turbulent times. When my mother passed away suddenly at age 32, I entered a deep, functional depression. But through therapy that aligned with my Jewish values and spiritual work—I began to heal.

I realized I didn’t want to date out of fear or pressure. I wanted to date from a place of truth. I prayed for someone real—emotionally healthy, spiritually open, kind-hearted, and committed to living a Torah life.

Upholding My Dignity

Many people told me to settle. But I refused. I encountered men who judged me harshly—some mocked my fears, others dismissed my values. One man called me “fat and ugly” over coffee. Another expected me to ignore red flags because he came from wealth.

God wasn’t asking me to lower my standards—He was asking me to hold them with love and patience until I met someone who truly saw me.

But I had grown too much to betray my values. I began to understand myself not as someone desperate for love, but as a bat Melech—a daughter of the King. My dignity wasn’t negotiable.

God wasn’t asking me to lower my standards—He was asking me to hold them with love and patience until I met someone who truly saw me.

The Man Who Did

And one day, I did.

He wasn’t flashy or perfect—but he was kind, respectful, committed to growth and Torah, and emotionally grounded. He didn’t see my past as baggage—he saw it as bravery. He valued my faith, not in spite of my struggles, but because of them.

To Anyone Still Waiting

If you’re still waiting—for love, for healing, for your next chapter—please know: your story isn’t over. You are not broken. You are becoming.

Every tear is counted. Every step is a victory. God is not late. He is preparing you for the blessing He’s been crafting all along.

As King David wrote in Psalms, “Min hameitzar karati Kah—From the narrow places I called out to God.” Growth doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from the tight, painful places. The heartbreak, the illness, the setbacks—they’re not detours. They are the path.

Your worth has nothing to do with marital status, physical ability, or what society says you should’ve achieved. You are worthy because you were created in the image of God.

I married at 38—but more importantly, I became the woman I was meant to be. Strong. Compassionate. Rooted in Torah and psychology. Still growing.

Your story may look different—but if you hold onto your emunah (faith), your bitachon (trust in God), and your truth, it too can be a story of resilience and redemption.

The post My Long Road to Real Love appeared first on Aish.com.