The Awakening That Burned the Bridge: A Story of Love, Lies, and Lottery Tickets

 

Ah, spiritual awakenings. They come in like a wrecking ball—uninvited, unapologetic, and ready to tear down every delusion you’ve ever clung to. And nothing—nothing—accelerates that process quite like a relationship that was never meant to last. But hey, hindsight’s 20/20, right?

So let’s take it back. The year was 2017, back when I still believed in things like “forever” and “mutual respect.” Cute, huh? I ended up pregnant, and instead of this being one of those beautiful, life-changing moments filled with love and support, I was met with an ultimatum: "Fix this situation, or resentment will not only be held against you but also the child." Wow. Nothing says "I'm a stable and loving partner" quite like a premeditated resentment plan. That should’ve been a red flag, right? But nah—when you’ve spent 13 years thinking you know someone, you tend to overlook those tiny little details. My bad.

Fast forward to 2018. I did what any rational person who never wants to be in that situation again would do—I got my tubes tied. A proactive approach to avoiding another round of reproductive hostage negotiations. Meanwhile, I continued blissfully ignoring every single neon-lit warning sign flashing in my face.

And then… 2020. The year of the Great Awakening, the year where my spiritual alarm clock went off at full volume with no snooze button in sight. I was deep in the thick of my awakening, questioning everything, seeing past illusions, and—most inconveniently—realizing my now ex was growing more and more distant. Because nothing speeds up the expiration date on a relationship like one person evolving while the other clings to the same old script.

But the real kicker? After 17 years of me casually mentioning that I knew and saw things before they happened, this man—this fully grown adult—finally decides to process that information during our breakup conversation. And what does he ask me?

"Are you a psychic?"

Sir. SIR. I have been telling you this for almost two decades. But sure, let’s pretend this is brand new information.

I say, "Yes, in essence, yes."

Him: "So you can predict the future?"

Me: "Sometimes. I told you this."

Him: "I thought this whole time you were kidding."

Oh. Oh, but it gets better.

"Then why don’t you use it to win the lottery?"

Deep breath. Stay calm. Remember, this is the man you thought you loved.

Me: "Because you’re not supposed to use it for service to self, you’re supposed to use it for service to others."

And then, with the confidence of a man who has contributed absolutely nothing profound to the conversation, he hits me with this gem:

"You are arrogant to believe that you are special enough to have abilities like that."

SCREAMS INTO THE VOID.

At that moment, every ounce of love, attachment, or emotional investment I had in this person evaporated. Gone. Poof. The Aries in me (who usually lets society’s labels slide) grabbed the wheel, and that was it. The bridge wasn’t just burned—it was incinerated, its ashes scattered into the abyss, never to be reconstructed again.

So, let this be a lesson. Even those of us who know better sometimes ignore the bold, glaring, siren-blaring red flags right in front of us. We mistake infatuation for love. We allow ourselves to be manipulated because our past wounds make us vulnerable. But when the time comes, the Universe will rip the veil off your eyes and set you free from any lingering soul contracts that no longer serve you.

Lessons were learned. Contracts were voided. And now? I walk forward knowing that my spiritual gifts aren’t for the weak-minded or the arrogant naysayers. They’re for those who are ready to wake the hell up.

Take what you will from this. But if you ever find yourself in a situation where your supposed "soulmate" is questioning your very essence while low-key insulting you, do yourself a favor—don’t wait for 17 years to wake up. The exit door is right there.

And to my ex? Enjoy that lottery ticket mindset, buddy. Let me know how that works out for you.

Or don’t. Because I literally do not care.

Fin.