For three years, I held on.
I held on to hope — that small, persistent thread that said, one day he comes back.
At first it was loud. I held onto it like a lifeline.
Then it became quieter, once I was no longer at the bottom of the well.
It just sat quietly in the background, making things a little easier to survive.
When he left, it didn’t just break my heart – it demolished my illusions about who I was. It shattered my identity and awakened me to consciousness.
The only reason the pain didn’t destroy me, was because I was given this hope.
I believed there was more to the story.
I believed he would return.
I believed love would win.
That belief carried me.
It got me out of bed. It made me fight for myself. It helped me find purpose.
But hope doesn’t just protect — it also blocks.
And I didn’t realize until now that it had been shielding me from the final layer of pain.
It was hiding the last 10% of my grief.
The extra 10% that was too much to feel in 2022.
It would have destroyed me if I faced it then.
I think the universe works in unbelievable ways.
I had to be given that hope to survive.
Without it, I don’t know that I would have made it out of 2022.
So the universe gave me what I needed.
And after years of healing and starting to see the beauty of the world again, the universe said “it’s time, she’s ready”.
And now, three years later, it’s time to face that 10%.
I saw him.
With her.
The one he left me for. The one that started it all.
The girl that was a ghost to me.
Needed for our karma. Irrelevant in the grand scheme.
The first time since that night.
And in that moment, the last bit of hope collapsed.
Not gently, but completely and truthfully.
The illusions were dissolved.
And suddenly, all the pain I thought I’d processed came rushing back — sharp, and heavy.
Because now there was no “maybe.”
No opening.
No space left to hold the possibility.
We know healing is a process.
Healing doesn’t mean you’re never triggered or never feel grief again.
It’s a process of noticing when you are triggered and making conscious choices – bringing awareness to what’s alive inside you.
And I wasn’t done with this part of my dark night of the soul.
Hope had numbed me just enough to keep going.
But it also kept me from releasing it all.
And now that hope has been released, I’m finally feeling what I couldn’t back then.
It hurts.
It feels like I’m right back in it — the betrayal, the confusion, the grief.
But I’m not the same person I was then.
I’m stronger now.
More grounded.
And even though this hurts — it also feels like a weight is finally being lifted.
And I think that’s both painful and exciting.
I climbed out of the well, I’ve sat at the top in neutrality – moving forward with my life but never quite getting my spark back.
Because that 10% of me was hiding in pain.
And now I can see the path to life again.
To the excitement, to the unblocked sensual and passionate energy that hasn’t been able to flow through me.
I don’t know what the next chapter looks like.
I’m still in the ache.
Still trying to let go of the future I held hope for.
But this time, there’s no pretending.
No illusion.
Just the truth.
This is what letting go feels like.
This is the start of my next chapter.
