Love, you remember when you were 4 years old, questioning your existence and your disbelief at being alive? Remember that? You felt different, didn’t you? No one but you understood those sudden epiphanies.

Even though you asked Mom about them, you knew early on that there were things you could only answer for yourself. You knew early on that those answers would always be deep within you. Yes, you somehow knew.

Did you ever stop and think, wait… why is mini me thinking about this? You were only four. That mind was always galore. You held an enormous capacity to store so much more than the average kid. You felt different, thought differently.

I’m sorry if I led you on and spent so many years convincing you that you saw too much, or that you were too much. Adult me must’ve misled you.

In my coming up, I remember feeling more intensely than the average. My parents called it dramatic many times, but I felt strongly, as if I felt my feelings 10x more. The positive and the negative.

Giselle, answer me this: when they called you dramatic, what did you start believing about yourself?

I started to question if my feelings were valid, whether they were legitimate. I started to feel like maybe they were inconvenient, maybe I was too much. I started thinking that if I shrank myself some, maybe I could fit in and belong. I didn’t want to feel the density of being and feeling different. That felt unbearable.

The biggest term to describe what I’ve felt for most of my years is misunderstood. It’s as simple in terms as it is complex in feeling. You go through life feeling out of place, misinterpreted, and that takes on its own shape of pain. Paired with having to retreat, to sit with and understand your own self.

When I spoke my mind, when I stood my ground, adults around me told me I was disrespectful, that I needed to stay silent, be quiet, and just follow what was being told. But that never sat well with me because, most of the time, I was simply expressing myself.

But in my culture, speaking back was considered rude. So we are taught to be quiet. And move along.

Giselle, tell me… how did that make you feel? You know, this whole thing, the feeling of being misunderstood? Where was your heart with this then?

Unseen.

I felt like I started to have to hide or bring down parts of myself that were very much me, very much a part of me. My inner spark started to shut down. Little by little, a void started forming, one I could not describe to you but only felt.

It began feeling like I was walking in this world not being able to show up as me. I went from talking a lot, feeling so much joy, to slowly becoming quieter. Observing. Watching adults and how they behaved. Questions arose in my own head about why they behaved the way they did.

And it felt like I went from being a child to, early on, becoming a watcher. And not only a watcher of that which surrounded me, or who surrounded me, but a watcher of myself too.

Sometimes it felt like I stepped outside of myself to watch.

I’m sorry. I know there’s a grief in that, and with that comes a lingering sadness. You had to retreat inward very early on. That must’ve felt heavy.

If the external world became your observation, when you retreated inward, what did you find there? Take me into your inner world.

I found myself conversing a lot with myself in my own head. Questioning many things. I would not only observe, but I would feel the energy change in a room, pick up on subtle changes in adults. I felt others’ intentions. I began to become very intimate with this.

I paid attention to tones of voices, the way someone’s body moved, their pauses, what they said or wouldn’t say. It became an art of noticing.

Sometimes I didn’t quite know if I truly wanted to take all of this in, or if perhaps it was necessary for me to teach myself this so young. But the aches came. So many disappointments from seeing so much. Nothing could miss me. Especially disappointment with my own life-bringers. That hit me harder.

The same thing that helped me understand and go inward to make sense of what revolved around me was the same thing that stirred so much emotionally in me.

The dreams came very early on. Some premonitory, some regular, and some felt like they were warning me. I took notice of this more and more and became very in tune with the dream world. I felt so curious and loved learning about all the things adults told us didn’t exist.

My belief in the divine was different. Early on, the religious ideologies my parents tried to ingrain in me didn’t digest well in me. They led me to question a lot, also. Why would I be sent to hell for so-and-so? And what even is hell? Is it even real? I would be punished and cast out just for making human mistakes?

It felt restrictive.

• • •

So early on, because of feeling so misunderstood in more than one way, I started to feel rebellion building up.

Not being able to question, nor being able to speak my own mind, made me feel out of place. It started to build a fire in me that I wanted to continue igniting and acting on. It felt like if I was told no, I wanted to do the opposite. If I wasn’t given what I asked for, I wanted to find a way.

My maternal wounds knocked on my door very early on. They opened a portal to my depression at ten years old. The observing and knowing too much did come with some strong storms. At that age, I didn’t even know what that hole was that I was feeling. I thought I was depressed for no reason. I know now, as an adult, that there were many things at play. And this is a dense subject for me to touch, but I didn’t understand what depression was then.

It’s traveled with me for a very long time.

As a teen, it eventually led me toward self-destruction, and that depression took control of me. I was too young to know better, and I found greater escapes. I merged with it. I bound myself to it, in thought, in physicality, in blood.

I started to drink to cope with reality. I started poisoning my field slowly. I found myself around the wrong people, and also in the wrong places of “love.”

The maternal wounds travel into very deep depths that are between me and me. But fractures happened in my psyche. I’ve survived it. I’ve lived it. I know that others have too.

The becoming, this age of rebellion, growing into my early teen years… I know those were the hardest ones. I know these are very deeply stored. Breathe with me through this one.

Tell me, what was going through you at the time? Take me there with you.

With seeing came wanting to numb. Numb the knowing, numb the feeling intensely. Numb. I just needed myself numb. It was like, how do I tap out of this?

I spent some days unmovable, frozen. It felt like everything around me was a lie. My family, my foundation, was crumbling behind the scenes. I knew more than I needed to know, and that was never protected. My innocence left me too early.

And I found ways that were just so wrong, but I needed to cope. Cutting was one. I know I didn’t want to leave this realm. I knew it was just a phase that felt like a bandage to the aches. But I tried once. I did. Just not in that way. I woke up weak, disoriented, dizzy, the aftermath of my body releasing the poison.

Meanwhile, underneath the veil, I don’t know. Maybe I created an atmosphere behind those walls, or maybe I attracted something in. I felt like I had left myself as food to eat. And the nights of paralysis started.

I heard my name being called, and I would run to the kitchen to answer Mom because it sounded like her voice, only for her to tell me she had never called my name. The intense dreams came at night. I would wake from them screaming. It felt like I was under constant spiritual attack. This went on for almost a year.

Until an angel in human form advised me to stop being a source of food for what she understood as lower entities. She opened my eyes with that one. Blood represented energy, life force, to me, and with the cutting, I began to understand those experiences through that spiritual lens.

Betrayal started early on. It’s just that it cuts differently when you’re conceived by that which is also able to betray you. How is that possible? Truly, I don’t know.

This one left its initial mark. The maternal mark.

You think you are supposed to be safe, or at least feel safe, with your own. But this wasn’t exactly my case.

I wasn’t fucking equipped to carry this alone.

• • •

Through time, this led me to also escape into unhealthy relationships at an early age, trying to fill in gaps. I didn’t know any better. Physical and emotional abuse followed. I didn’t understand many things yet that I do today.

For me, it feels like my maternal wounds have worked against me and have been operating behind the back of my subconscious, making me distrust and undervalue myself. They have brought me to my own self-betrayal. Many times.

I developed this need to become a savior, not understanding then that I would extend my hand and arm only to end up with it cut and bleeding. I didn’t understand that battling with others’ inner demons meant breaking myself in the process.

By now, I have acquired this piece of knowledge all too well.

• • •

Giselle, forgive me for poisoning you while you were already aching. I wasn’t thinking in my entirety.

I put you through things you shouldn’t have been exposed to so early, and forgive me for the markings.

We have survived a lot together, and I want to make it right with you. I owe you, out of all, the most.

Let me hold you tenderly. Let me hold you close.

I have betrayed you more than anyone. I’ve put your set of needs to the side. All for looking for acceptance, love, and understanding in the way that you’ve handed it out, from seeing underneath everyone’s darker parts.

But not realizing that all you have sought out through time has always been initially in you. You are that source you didn’t know how to reach for when no one else could fill up those gaps.

It’s always been you.

My life has felt like a roller coaster of initiations. Moments that could’ve broken me apart or sent me off this earth, literally speaking. But while I used to think, once upon a time, that it was weakening me, it was actually sharpening my strength, my abilities, my sword.

I stand here as a 33-year-old woman, a mother, as the wisest version of myself thus far, and I’ve been trying to do things differently now.

I’m tired.

And breaking my own patterns, along with the generational patterns, feels so crucial for me.

You see, sometimes people tell me I’m tough, that I’m so strong, that I’ve got it because I’m a built-in warrior. But that’s besides the point. There’s this deep sense of loneliness I walk with in my heart, and it’s not the loneliness you think about. I love solitude. I love my natural hermit self. It’s a loneliness that feels established very early on, and that has possibly traveled with me before this lifetime.

You know the watcher? Just passing through and observing. I identify a lot with this energy. Or archetype. This drags with me like a heavy cloak I wear.

You can have ones surrounding you and still carry this immense weight you can’t put words to. I’m not actually alone. I know that. But this feeling is punctured by having always felt out of place, misunderstood. The unseen.

Feeling like I connect with the invisible more than the visible, and that thread being there so very present because we have so much in commonality.

I’ve gone through life being told I’m too sensitive. Too touched by everything. And before, I looked down on it. But that same sensitivity is the God-given gift that taps me in so vividly. And I’d never lower, withhold, or shrink that part of me ever again.

And so I make peace with little me.

I move forward knowing that I cannot change the past, but that I can root for us a better future. That I can keep her close and meet her where I left her. That anytime I feel myself close to self-betrayal, I will keep her in mind and revisit everything we have survived together.

I’m present with you now. I got you. I have your back. I’m not leaving you behind again. I’ll protect you even on the hardest days. I’ll preserve your innocence and bring you back to the center.

We are not at fault for not being protected, but we have one another. I’ll always be your strength. You lean on me now.

My pact with her is for the long run. And in making it right with her, I make it right with me. And through healing me, I bring healing into my own mothering, my own becoming. Little me needed someone like me growing up, more than she was aware that she did. And through me now, I bring her the necessary healing.

I’ve been the weight that comes with divinity.

I hope that you can take something of resonance or value from this. May you make peace with parts of yourself you may have abandoned along the way.

May you pick up the pieces you left behind. May you reunite with your inner child and bring them back to innocence, to a safe place. Let yourself know peace within you.

May you be able to heal your fragments. May you make this life so yours, with no shame. May you become one with your inner child, your other you.

This is something that I have been feeling more inclined than ever to bring about to this space. Some years ago I would’ve never known what a push-and-pull dynamic was or what it looked like, until I somehow found myself in a situation, in a loop.

Now, before I expand more on these dynamics part by part, I would like to expand on what they look like. I’m almost sure that on the internet we have all heard the terms “push and pull,” but what exactly does that mean?

If I am going by definition, a push-and-pull dynamic consists of two people. In this relationship or cycle, one chooses closeness while the other avoids it or pulls away. This means that from the avoidant partner there can be things such as, but not limited to, ghosting, reappearing, blocking, pushing away, floods of affection right after emotionally starving you, and one of the most destabilizing ones: rewriting your reality, tailoring the occurrence or events to their liking. Keep in mind that this can vary, and this will not look exactly the same in every relationship.

I like to call this an emotional limbo. It has you in a constant state of worry and confusion. There is no solid safety, and you don’t exactly know when the rug will be pulled right out from under your feet. It leaves your nervous system feeling out of balance, and the destabilization that comes with it can shove you into a pit of depression.

Now, how do we even get stuck in what feels like a never-ending loop? Well, it starts with your willingness to understand another’s deepest wounds. Your heart and ability to see the human in them. Through this experience, you start to empathize with them. You understand their stories, their trauma, their struggles.

But eventually, through your understanding of these things, you become stuck. Meanwhile, you understand them, you show up, and you’re on your way to your own inner workings. In any scenario of discomfort, they run, they return, they hurt you, they self-sabotage, all to do it again in repetitive ways.

There comes a point where you start having the painful realization that understanding someone that deeply can lead you to your own demise. It leads you to self-betrayal and the erasure of your truest self.

When you finally come into contact with the reality of the harm of this dynamic, by then you struggle to get out of it. Or when you find the courage to accept that it’s not serving you in the highest of good, you become the bad one. The one who’s abandoning them. The one creating their abandonment wounds, while all along they were already creating yours.

I think of it as some kind of reversal.

Where once you start to establish boundaries, somehow it becomes evidence to them of how you’re cruel, bad-hearted, that you never cared or loved them that deeply.

But how?

Where does that leave our pain? Our ache? How does ours get exterminated from the whole equation? Because we decided to exit the loop? How much longer were we supposed to have endured?

You see, we think that by loving harder, communicating better, showing up, putting our own energy and work into it, that maybe it will get better. And it might for a short period of time, but these push-and-pull dynamics don’t ever end well. Not when only one is willing to do the work required for it to work.

We need to quit beating ourselves up when we decide to extend this kind of compassion and pour it into ourselves. Because if we don’t, where does that lead us?

When we stop offering them water, how do we suddenly become the source of the problem?

These are questions I have asked myself and sat with. Because you almost start to believe that you’re the honest issue. It becomes a psychological depletion.

You must know that the moment you recognize all of this, it won’t be too late. You will be on your knees begging for help because the moments of withdrawal will feel so intense. But you must get off your knees, wipe the blood clean, and slowly walk away from these energetic extractions.

Once you understand that it no longer serves anything sacred in your life, it will become easier for you to accept and stop the dynamic.

But your absence will become their injury.

Let it.

• • •

Through my process of healing from experiencing this dynamic myself, I have asked myself some very important and difficult questions. One of them is, why, and what in me kept allowing this? Why was I overriding what I already foresaw? Why was I putting myself in a constant state of ignoring my inner compass, my intuition?

At some point we have to start asking different questions, and those questions will require us to go in. They will be uncomfortable, but also useful. At one point we have to not only ask, why are they doing this to me? But, why am I doing this to me? Why was I handing out the permission slip? Why was I allowing access each time they came back asking for more?

Personally, for me, it has always been being able to see and believe in someone’s potentiality. I thought that if I stood around longer and I took and took, that somehow I would actually see them become something different. And this one is heavy. This one I’ve failed at terribly and deceived myself with many times, enough to say that I have been so wrong about this.

You cannot be anyone’s savior. You cannot battle with someone else’s demons. It is not your battling match. And although you’d wish you could help, it goes out of your control. It is not your job to ever serve purpose in taming anyone else’s demons besides your own. You simply cannot dirty your hands with their unfinished business. You do not want to lose yourself in that process.

What’s been key in all this for me is coming to terms with understanding that the only reason we stay in this loop, and that they keep us inside of that loop for so long, is because some part of us was willing to re-enter it. Even if it has been in the slightest of ways.

But that’s okay.

Because in realizing this, you find the power to stop the loop. And once you find that power, you can better put it to use. You must first understand the pattern and the rhythm of these dynamics. These dynamics need extraction, withdrawing periods, with a return. And this is a cycle that can become something we are very much accustomed to before even realizing it.

• • •

• • •

It takes out all of your life force.

And trust me, when it does, you’ll feel it.

I know this one may have crossed more minds than mine, but have you ever thought that when it comes to these things, perhaps these are our modern-day energy vampires? The types that no longer require blood, but do need and feed off energy extraction.

Do keep in mind here that some know they are doing it, and some are less conscious of how they are participating in extracting from you. See, these dynamics thrive off the emotional resources of another human being. What keeps it going is feeding it attention, reaction, reassurance, forgiveness, and conflict. It’s like a feeding ground to this push and pull. Even engagement just as slight as explaining something could become a way to keep you engaged, energetically speaking.

But what happens when you stop feeding this energy, this energy pull?

Now you are too cold. Now you are cruel. Now you have ego. Now you are prideful. Now you are punishing them. And your boundaries become personal attacks to them.

You may be asking, how do you know?

Well, I know this because I’ve experienced this reversal myself.

I’ve been called all of the things. Vindictive and venomous being ones I’ll share. And I had to sit with it. But I thought, how does me not participating in something that’s harming me now, all of a sudden, wound you? If I took the conscious decision to remove myself, to stop responding or reacting because I know where those roads lead, how does that make me revengeful? How does that magically become some form of revenge?

I simply got tired.

As a woman who has to mother, who has a plate full, I one day stood my ground and said to myself, No. I’m not going to do this to myself anymore because I am choosing to lead myself into harm.

I had seen enough of it, experienced it, confused intensity with passion, felt all of it, cried enough, and understood enough. I knew that if I went against what I knew, I was only going against myself at that point.

It was hard for me, and I tried to give grace. I have felt like I’m someone willing to dig deep and understand the human underneath the behavior. But there comes a point where understanding why someone wounds you does absolutely no act of service for you.

Eventually it clicked for me.

But it took me a while.

I learned to have grace with myself in all this.

By the time this all clicked in me, and I had endured enough of it, I asked myself, am I venomous, or are you just hurt because I’m no longer giving you something to extract from me?

But sure enough, this is the part where you become the villain in their story.

Allow yourself to be it.

How many women in history have been called all kinds of horrible things once they stood in their power? Think about that for a moment.

There will come a time when becoming the villain in someone else’s version of events becomes necessary because you are no longer allowing them to consume from you.

We have to learn when to choose differently. Because it seems that once something is a pattern, it will continue to loop. And boundaries have to go further than just being beautiful things we speak about.

At some point we have to take the lead and close the door.

The access.

A lot of times you will find out through these experiences that it all leads you back into your own inner work. We can see all of the dysfunctions at play. That may come easy for some of us. But are we willing to acknowledge where we went against our own inner knowing?

That sparks an entirely different conversation.

One that is needed to be had.

With us.

I’ve had a different angle to reflect on. Perhaps these dynamics come to reveal something to us. Not only who they are, but where we still need work.

• • •

Lately, I’m on my own journey of healing. I still ache, profoundly. Attempting to love someone in silence is a tough thing. But I stand my ground.

And rooted, I flow.

Different women have entered my messages lately and come forward in sharing similar experiences with the void. Different situations, but coded very similarly. And I believe that these conversations need to be had.

We need to speak between us women.

No need to rush the process. Us women can become the source of wisdom and knowledge. Collectively, we can establish balance. No hope is lost.

Sharing stories and personal gnosis is the way to traverse these voids. You are never truly alone. I welcome all women to continue to share their voice and speak up. I welcome all, in hopes that my own voice hits the right people.

In confronting ourselves, we take back our life force.

From my own weight of divinity.

Ancient mystery schools had initiations. Today, love can become one too.

There are loves that arrive to expose the places where our soul is still bargaining with its own value and worth.

When Spirit begins carving your road, everything that cannot walk it slowly but surely begins falling away. And it hurts. We mistake this unraveling for abandonment when, in reality, it is the architecture of our becoming.

Some people don’t know how to create life. They only know how to consume it. They feed on your attention, devotion, forgiveness, your light… whatever keeps them away from having to face themselves. Some do it consciously… others don’t. Either way, a hungry spirit is still hungry. To me, these are the lower densities that try to corrupt the work you’ve already done.

You become their mirror. A place of power. A current of life. And that alone offends those who have spent a lifetime avoiding their own reflection.

This may cause some people to descend into manipulation. They accuse. They project. They try to make their underworld your underworld while you exhaust yourself trying to build them a staircase into your upper worlds.

This is the initiation from their toxicity and their lower form of love into your own alchemical process of self-love.

One day they leave, or they make sure you’re the one left behind. What they don’t realize is that, in doing so, they pushed you into the fire. And that fire no longer frightens you.

Suddenly you realize that people may abandon you, but Spirit does not. Spirit protects you, even when the ache feels unbearable. You see, the deepest initiations don’t reconcile you with another person. They reveal you to yourself.

And it takes courage to walk through that fire. Not everyone has it. Transformation demands the death of an old self, and not everyone is willing to let older versions of themselves die at the altar. Others may spend a lifetime protecting the very self they are being asked to outgrow. That, too, is their path. Respectfully.

Spirit has the power to remove. And in that removal, a truth emerges.

This is the truth about hungry spirits:

they forget there comes a threshold where nothing sustained by another’s light can cross. Every realm has its own laws. Once they begin interfering with your own soul’s path, Spirit no longer asks you to dirty your hands. Not everyone and not everything can follow you into the next phase. 

The greatest act of love is not rescuing another from themselves. It is trusting that Spirit knows what belongs on your road and what must be swept from your energetic territory. They are removed because they no longer have access to walk the road where Spirit is taking you by the hand.

I let go.

I grow.

The life force stripped from me comes back to

me tenfold.

This is something I have observed through my own personal experience. Call it psychic interference. Call it spiritual warfare. Call it obsession, addiction, self-sabotage, trauma, projection, or possession. Call it whatever language feels most comfortable to your worldview.

What interests me is not the label.

What interests me is the phenomenon.

When I look back, the moments where I felt most vulnerable to interference were rarely the moments where I was strong. They were the moments where I was hurting. The moments where I felt untethered from myself. Spiritually exhausted. Emotionally raw. Disconnected from my center. The moments where something within me had fractured and I no longer felt fully rooted in who I was.

It was during those periods that reality itself seemed more susceptible to distortion. My thoughts felt less trustworthy. My impulses became louder. My discernment weakened. And influences, whether internal or external, seemed to find easier access to my field.

And so I find myself wondering if the real question is not whether spiritual warfare exists, but what conditions make a person susceptible to interference. Because regardless of what we believe, how we choose to interpret these experiences, or the language we use to describe them, there appears to be a pattern.

The deeper the fracture.

The wider the opening.

The weaker the root.

The easier the entrance.

The word possession itself is interesting.

Possession means the actual holding or occupancy of something, either with or without rights of ownership.

A thing possessed.

Sit with that definition for a moment.

What happens when an individual no longer has ownership over themselves? What happens when wounds begin making decisions on their behalf? When obsession occupies the mind, addiction occupies the will, fear occupies perception, and self-destruction occupies the spirit?

At what point does interference become occupancy?

If possession is occupancy, then perhaps the deeper question becomes: who or what is occupying the space where our own sovereignty should reside?

This is where I believe the conversation becomes far more nuanced than most people are willing to admit. Because whether we interpret interference psychologically, spiritually, energetically, or metaphysically, the principle remains remarkably similar. When we lose ownership of ourselves, something else often takes its place.

We often forget that although we inhabit the flesh, we also inhabit the psyche. We inhabit imagination. We inhabit belief. We inhabit spirit. We inhabit entire unseen landscapes that continuously shape our thoughts, perceptions, and behavior as we move through this life.

Perhaps this is why nearly every spiritual tradition speaks of knowledge of the self, discipline, purification, prayer, meditation, shadow work, devotion, contemplation, or inner mastery. Not because these things make us superior. But because they strengthen the relationship with our own vessel. And a strong vessel is harder to inhabit by anything that does not belong there.

We have all heard the phrase:

“Your body is a temple.”

The saying originates from the Bible, but the wisdom itself feels universal. I think there is a deeper teaching hidden within it. The body is not simply flesh. It is the vessel through which the mind, spirit, and soul experience this reality.

And if we truly viewed ourselves as sacred vessels, how differently would we treat ourselves?

What we eat. What we consume. What we listen to. What we read. What we watch. Who we allow into our lives. The conversations we entertain. The habits we feed. The things we repeatedly expose ourselves to. It all matters. It all leaves an imprint. And it all either strengthens the foundation or weakens it.

Interference does not only arrive through some grand spiritual event. Sometimes it enters through the things we repeatedly neglect. Through the wounds we refuse to address. Through the dependencies we justify. Through avoidance. Through the habits that slowly pull us further away from ourselves.

In many ways, this is what spiritual neglect looks like.

Whether that interference arrives at our doorway in the form of obsession, addiction, compulsion, destructive thought patterns, unconsciousness, psychic influence, attachments, or something more mysterious is a matter each individual must decide for themselves.

But I am no longer convinced that all forms of interference are purely external. Nor am I convinced that they are purely internal. I do, however, suspect that the unseen and the psyche are in far greater conversation with one another than we realize.

I also think it’s important to acknowledge something that feels very real to me.

While psychology has helped me understand a lot about the mind, trauma, addiction, attachment, and the ways we can become disconnected from ourselves, I don’t believe this conversation ends there.

We often forget that we are not just matter. We are also spirit.

Sometimes we think we are in a spiritual battle with ourselves, and sometimes we are. Sometimes the interference is our own wounds, our own fears, our own unresolved pain speaking through us. But other times, I am not entirely convinced that what we are experiencing originates solely from within.

What I have found in my own life is that the more ungrounded and disconnected I become from myself, the more susceptible I become to things that feel heavier than psychology alone can explain.

Old attachments. Old energies. Lingering influences from the past. The emotional residue of people, places, experiences, and relationships that should have been released long ago, yet somehow remain woven into us.

And from a spiritual perspective, I do believe there are lower frequencies, parasitic influences, and unseen forces that can attach themselves more easily when a person is no longer fully inhabiting themselves. When they are disconnected from their center. When they have abandoned their own roots. When the vessel has been left unattended for far too long.

The thing about these influences is that we rarely see them. We feel them.

We feel them when we drift from our center. We feel them when we lose sight of our purpose. We feel them when something seems to pull us away from ourselves over and over again.

This is why I don’t think the psychological and spiritual conversations can be separated as neatly as we often try to separate them. The physical world and the spiritual world seem to operate in tandem with one another. What affects one often affects the other.

That may not be everyone’s belief, and that is okay. But it is something I have observed enough times in my own life that I can no longer dismiss it.

The true work may not be learning how to fight every darkness we encounter, but learning how to move through that darkness in a way that does not shatter the inner or outer temple.

Sometimes we need to learn how to allow things to move through us without allowing them to take ownership of us.

The true work might actually look like tending to the roots so deeply, knowing ourselves so honestly, and strengthening the vessel so completely that fewer things are able to enter the temple in the first place.

Because…

The weaker the root.

The easier the entrance.

Some people do not just pass through your life.
They move through your mind, your body, your nervous system, your energy. They become a vessel you start carrying in your field and feel even in absence.

The push and pull of them becomes a constant dysregulation. A cycle. A loop of highs, lows, distance, return, ache, silence, intensity. And after a while it no longer just lives emotionally. It begins living physically too.

It lingers in the body. In the thoughts. In the waiting. In the hyper-awareness. In the haunting of them while they are there and even while they are not. A psychological maze that echoes even through the stretching of distance. And that’s what makes soul ties so painful.

Some soul ties become psychological mirrors and spiritual initiations at once. They awaken the nervous system, expose the unconscious, and force confrontation with the abandoned, fractured, longing parts of the self that were hidden beneath survival.

And sometimes that push and pull creates something deeper than heartbreak. It creates a cycle where dopamine rises and crashes constantly. Huge emotional highs followed by devastating lows. The withdrawals after distance can feel almost identical to addiction. Not just emotionally, but chemically, physically, psychologically.

And sometimes this dynamic forms when there is deep unhealed trauma, fear of abandonment, avoidance, fear of intimacy, fear of being fully seen. One person reaches while the other retreats. One person stays trying to understand while the other runs from what the connection mirrors back to them.

And that is the painful part about certain soul ties. These connections can feel beautiful. Deep. Fated even. Sometimes they become the greatest mirrors for inner work. Because alone, sometimes we cannot fully see ourselves. Some people enter our lives to reflect back the fractures, wounds, desires, fears, patterns and parts of ourselves we avoided confronting.

These connections can become deeply transformative when both people are willing to do the work. They can feel almost spiritual. But when there is imbalance, avoidance, inconsistency, emotional instability, or one person refusing their own healing, the connection starts collapsing under its own weight. What once felt divine begins destabilizing both people instead.

And we think we can love someone into it. That if we love harder, give more, stay longer, hold on tighter, something will finally shift. That they will meet us there. That they will stop running. That they will choose the work instead of avoiding it. But sometimes loving harder does not bring people together. Sometimes it breaks them apart even more. Sometimes it pulls you away from your own healing. And sometimes their evolution is not your business, your control, or your responsibility to carry. No matter how much potential you can see living inside of them.

Sometimes loving someone also means letting go in love. Loving them from afar. Mourning them while they are still alive somewhere in the world. Trying to process the grief of a connection that still feels present inside your body even after distance is created.

And you know it. They know it.

Then the question becomes: will you stay in the cycle or remove yourself from it?

How many times do you actually want to exist inside a loop?

and sometimes that is the true horror of certain connections.

For some time now, I’ve been paying attention to patterns reflected both within myself and in the world. The state of the world is chaotic, imbalanced, not in a good place. And most of the time, we point outward. We talk about the system, the government, the programming, the ways we’ve been conditioned, manipulated, even poisoned. And a lot of that is valid. It’s real. It’s important to understand those things, especially because they’re not taught to us. We’re not taught to think critically. We’re not taught to question. But that’s only one part of it.

The second part is the one people don’t want to hear. We are also part of the reason the world is the way it is. Not in a way that dismisses external forces, but in a way that requires us to take responsibility for our inner world. And that’s where most people stop.

Because going within is harder. It’s easier to blame the system, to point outward, to stay in that space of knowing without actually doing anything with it. But when the conversation starts to shift inward, when it starts to ask something of you, people resist. They avoid. They deflect. They don’t want to face themselves.

A lot of what people call shadow work is just shadow play, circling it, referencing it, never actually entering it.

And yet, that is the work. The deeper work. The work that actually creates change. Because what we carry internally doesn’t stay contained. It shows up in our relationships, in the way we react, in the patterns we repeat, in the things we tolerate, in the way we move through the world.

And when millions of people are avoiding that level of responsibility, that becomes the state of the world.

We want change, but we don’t want to do the work that requires it. We want truth, but not the kind that asks us to confront ourselves. We want awareness, but without accountability.

And it doesn’t work that way. As long as we continue to avoid the work, we will continue to live in a world that reflects that avoidance. A lot of the imbalance we see outside is a reflection of the imbalance we refuse to face within.

And most people don’t want to hear that. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

I’ve always been drawn to what lives beneath the surface.

The psyche, the unseen, the things that don’t immediately make sense.

And when I look back at myself, there’s something I can’t ignore.

When I was younger, I came out at 13.

I came out because, since I was a child, I always felt a deep attraction when I looked at a woman.
I felt butterflies.

All of the things I was supposed to feel for boys…
I felt them for girls.

At one point, I thought it might be a phase. But it wasn’t.

I came out. I dated a few men, one being the father of my child, and another ex.

And I realized, through time, that I wasn’t fulfilled.

They were good to me.
But emotionally, it didn’t satisfy me.
Not physically, either.

Not fully.

I could care for them.
I could feel for them.
But not deeply.

Not in the way I’ve felt for a woman.

I noticed that every time I was with a woman, I felt something different.

Like my first love. She was a woman.
I felt for her in a way that was intense, consuming, real.

And again, in this era of my life,
being 33, a mother, having closed one chapter and stepped into another…

I felt deeply for her too.

Maybe even more.

That’s what made me stop and really look at it.

I’ve noticed a pattern.

I can be with men. I can like them.

It can work.

For a while.

But it doesn’t fulfill me.

It doesn’t reach me in the same way.

When I’m with a woman, it’s different.

It’s not just attraction.

It’s depth.
It’s emotional.
It’s physical.

It’s everything at once.

I fall hard.

This has been persistent throughout my life.

So I started asking myself…

Is this something psychological?
Or is it just what it is?

It has never felt like a phase for me.
Especially not my sexuality.

With time, I stopped questioning it and started listening to what has always been there.

Maybe the question was never why.
Only whether I was ready to accept it.