A Cord Cutting Reflection

Before the ceremony, I told my therapist that I felt it was time to release Michael. He agreed. He said keeping him in orbit, even from a distance, isn’t good for either of us. It delays the work we both need to do.

And I knew he was right. Allowing small pieces of connection to linger kept me tied to an old version of love. It felt tender, but it wasn’t healing.

So tonight, I honored that truth.

I blocked Michael, then I lit two candles -- pink for me, purple for him (I meant to get black lol). I tied them with twine and sat in meditation. The music was soft, the air heavy with intention. My flame reached the cord first, burning through it until the twine fell away. His wax spilled outward, almost holding on, while mine flowed inward. It felt like a sign that I was the one meant to let go, to look inward, while he still seeks what's outside of himself.

As the string burned, I cried. The kind of tears that come from deep within. My flame was the last to relinquish.

In meditation, I saw us both: naked, suspended in a liminal space, connected by a cord. Then, big golden scissors appeared and cut it cleanly. He stayed in the dark room. I walked into a garden lit by moonlight and fireflies. A river flowed there, lined with lilies and lotus flowers. I bathed in its healing water and wept until I felt the light within me.

I sat there naked and alone, but not lonely. Just free.

After the meditation, I painted what I saw -- two cosmic spirits intertwined, still reaching, still remembering, but letting go. The painting became a reflection of what the ceremony gave me; clarity, peace, and a reminder that love can evolve into freedom.

The door between us is closed, not locked. He can come through if he knocks with intention if he chooses to surrender, to trust, and to become. Or maybe someone else will. Either way this garden, this peace, is enough with just me.