I don’t want a man.
I want a throne beside mine.
Not a savior. Not a babysitter. Not a boy in a king costume asking me to shrink so he can feel tall.
I want someone who can walk into the fire with me — not to carry me out, but to stand there with me until the whole illusion burns down and we rise from the ashes, clearer and more crowned than ever.
Because I’m not looking to be saved.
I’ve already done that work.
What I want is so much more dangerous to the systems that built us.
I want a man who disrupts with purpose.
Who interrupts my doubt with devotion.
Who meets my chaos with a calm so unshakable, it makes the storm feel seen.
I’ve spent years reclaiming parts of myself the world told me were too much.
My tears.
My rage.
My softness.
My truth.
And I’m not folding that back up to make room for a man who confuses submission with safety.
The feminine is not here to be tolerated.
She’s here to transform.
When a woman is in her truth, when she’s tapped into the Source and standing in her radiance — it terrifies the uninitiated. It disrupts the fragile. Because she’s no longer looking to be chosen.
She’s choosing.
And she’s choosing alignment.
Not attention.
I’m not interested in partnership that’s built on compromise.
I want sacred co-creation.
You bring your full self. I bring mine.
No masks. No games. No chasing.
Just clarity.
Tell me what you’re building.
Tell me what you’ve destroyed to get here.
Tell me what demons you’ve faced and how many times you’ve stood back up.
I don’t need pretty. I need presence.
See, the divine feminine doesn’t need constant reassurance — she needs resonance.
She wants to feel you in the way you move.
In the way you honor her name when she’s not in the room.
In the way you hold her without asking her to quiet her thunder.
She doesn’t need to be handled — she needs to be held in truth.
In Kabbalah, there’s a principle called the Shekhinah — the indwelling divine presence. She’s not loud, but she’s everywhere. She’s the holy within the ordinary. The sacred feminine that holds the world together.
A woman tapped into this?
She becomes a mirror, a movement, a moment of reckoning.
And if you think you’re ready to walk beside her, you better be ready to know yourself.
Because here’s the raw truth:
A woman in her power doesn’t need a man to complete her.
She wants a man who magnifies her.
One who doesn’t shrink in her shine.
One who doesn’t panic when she burns off the lies.
One who doesn’t mistake her softness for surrender or her standards for ego.
A woman like this will see you.
Before you even know you’re lost, she’ll call your name in the spirit and ask: “Are you coming back to life, or are you just pretending?”
She will love you like prophecy — not poetry.
And she’ll demand your soul match her frequency, not just your words.
The right man?
He’s not threatened by your throne.
He builds his beside it.
He doesn’t need to fix your pain — he sits in it with you.
He doesn’t play power games — he plays for keeps.
He doesn’t pacify your vision — he plans with it.
He brings sanctuary, not control.
He makes space, not rules.
He reflects the masculine not as dominance, but as direction. As protection without possession. As honor without ego.
A love like this isn’t for the faint.
It’s not for the timeline watchers or the half-awake.
It’s for the woman who has wept in the wilderness and remembered her name.
It’s for the man who has faced his inner war and come back bearing peace, not pride.
It’s for the ones who want to build legacy, not just love.
Because I don’t want a man who just matches my energy.
I want a man who can match my mission.
And if I cry on the floor, I don’t want him to panic.
I want him to pray.
I want him to see my grief as sacred,
not as something to be “fixed,”
but something to be witnessed — fully and without fear.
I want to rise with him.
Not because he lifts me, but because he reminds me what I’m made of when I forget.
I want his presence to say what words can’t:
“You don’t have to tone it down here.
This ground is holy.
You can bring all of you.”
Because the Kingdom?
It’s not built on dates and matching playlists.
It’s built on fire-tested trust and divine alignment.
We don’t need more relationships.
We need more thrones.
More alliances.
More purpose-born unions.
So no — I don’t want a man.
I want a throne beside mine.
A co-ruler.
A sovereign.
A man who’s not just turned on by my body but lit up by my calling.
One who looks at me and says,
“Let’s not just love each other —
Let’s build a world.”
I write and share this today as I sit in quiet reflection of my life, my loves, and the sacred grief that love sometimes carries. A new chapter is unfolding, and I can feel everything shifting softly, powerfully for the better. This throne beside me, it belongs to Craig. And he sits in it fully.
I love him deeply, dearly, without question. Just this morning, a client asked me, “How do you know Craig is your soulmate?” I smiled and said, “It’s a soul knowing of home.” A few days ago, Craig and I were out together when A Thousand Years began playing it’s been our song since before day one. He grabbed my hand, looked into my eyes, and energetically pulled me in.
It was a merging.
A remembering.
I’ve written many pieces about my love for this man over the years, and it’s because he has the throne. He is my king.
I pray you find something here.
Ready to rise into the truth of sacred union?
Join me for a live Activation Call where we strip away the illusions, claim our thrones, and ignite the remembrance of who we truly are — within love, within power, within purpose.
This is for the woman who knows she’s not here to beg or bend — she’s here to be met.
And for the man ready to stand beside her, fully embodied.
Come to be seen. Come to be shifted. Come to be sovereign.
RSVP now. Let the activation begin. Comment ACTIVATE.
As always loving you from here,
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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