Self Healing Goddess ✧

This is not an aesthetic.

This is a reclamation.

I am documenting my becoming in real time —

the unlearning, the detachment, the grief, the glow-up,

the moments I almost broke

and the moments I chose myself instead.

I loved deeply.

I stayed too long.

I gave grace where I wasn’t given safety.

And when the cycle finally revealed itself,

I stopped chasing.

I stopped negotiating my worth.

I chose peace — even when my heart still loved.

⸻

🤍 Devoted to La Santa Muerte

She stands with me through endings, ego deaths, and rebirths.

Protector. Witness. Holy Mother of my transformation.

🔥 Guided by Lucifer’s light

Truth. Discernment. Sovereignty.

The courage to see clearly and walk away cleanly.

⸻

Here you’ll find:

• Shadow work & mirror magick

• Emotional sovereignty & energetic boundaries

• Altar rituals, candle work, and devotional practice

• Loving without attachment to outcome

• Softness without self-abandonment

• Healing that is spiritual, emotional, and embodied

This space is my grimoire.

My altar in digital form.

My record of choosing myself.

If you’re healing, detaching, remembering your power —

you’re home here.

I’ve seen this version before.

The one where the damage is done first…

and the apology never comes—

only a shift in roles.

One minute,

I’m being blamed for everything that went wrong in his life.

His missed interview.

His frustration.

His inability to show up for himself.

And the next…

He has nobody.

I’m all he had.

And somehow, I’m still the one expected to hold him.

—

But I’ve learned something about pain that isn’t mine.

It gets loud when it’s looking for somewhere to land.

And this time…

it tried to land on me again.

—

He told me

“fuck your presence.”

“fuck your value.”

And in the same breath…

wanted me to stay.

That was the moment it clicked.

I was never being valued—

I was being used as emotional shelter.

—

Because if I was truly everything to him,

he wouldn’t have spoken to me like that.

You don’t destroy what you cherish.

You don’t belittle what you need.

You don’t break the very place you call home.

Unless you expect it to never leave.

—

And maybe the old version of me wouldn’t have.

She would’ve stayed.

Explained.

Cried softer.

Loved harder.

Tried to turn chaos into comfort.

—

But I’m not her anymore.

—

This time,

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t chase clarity from someone committed to confusion.

I didn’t shrink myself just to keep the connection.

—

I chose my daughter.

I chose my peace.

I chose to listen to the part of me that said:

“You’ve been here before… and you’re not staying this time.”

—

He called me a crybaby.

But what he didn’t understand is…

Those weren’t weak tears.

They were recognition.

Of a pattern.

Of a cycle.

Of a version of me I’ve already outgrown.

—

And when he tried to become the victim

after being the one who caused the damage…

I didn’t step in to save him.

Because I finally understand:

I am not responsible for fixing what hurt me.

—

Some people don’t want a partner.

They want a place to fall apart

without ever being held accountable.

—

And I am no longer available for that role.

—

My presence is not something you get to disrespect

and still have access to.

—

I didn’t lose him.

I just stopped volunteering

There’s a specific kind of loneliness that hits when someone is right next to you… and you still feel unseen.

That’s where I’ve been.

He’s here.

Physically present.

Sleeping next to me at the end of the night.

But somehow, I still feel the same neglect I felt when he wasn’t even around.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Because it confirms something I didn’t want to admit:

It was never about distance.

---

I remember when I used to beg for his attention.

When I accepted quick encounters, small moments, crumbs…

just to feel close to him.

I thought if I gave more, loved harder, showed up better…

he would meet me there.

But now he’s here, and nothing has changed.

If anything, it feels worse.

Because now there’s no excuse.

---

I feed him.

I take care of him.

I give him back massages because he’s in pain.

And I don’t even mind doing those things…

until I realize it’s not being reciprocated.

It starts to feel like a chore.

Like I’m pouring into someone who isn’t even trying to pour back into me.

And that’s when something in me shifts.

Because I shouldn’t feel undesirable in my own space.

I shouldn’t feel like an irritation.

I shouldn’t feel like I have to earn softness from someone who claims to want me.

---

Lately, he’s been snapping at me.

Talking down to me.

Moving like my presence bothers him.

And I keep thinking:

Is this how I make you feel after not seeing me all day?

Because if that’s the case…

I don’t even want to be around.

---

What makes it worse is that I’ve already said something.

More than once.

And I hate that I even felt the need to explain it.

Because in the back of his head… he already knows.

He knows what I’ve been through.

He knows how his ex has affected me for years.

He knows what triggers me.

So at this point, it’s not about awareness.

It’s about whether he cares enough to move differently.

---

And I’m starting to accept something I didn’t want to:

Knowing hasn’t changed anything.

---

I’ve been more sad than happy since he’s been here.

And that truth is sitting heavy on me.

Because I remember what it felt like when I was alone…

pouring into myself, minding my peace, coming back to who I am.

I didn’t feel this drained.

I didn’t feel this small.

---

There’s nothing worse than laying next to someone

and feeling like they don’t even pay attention to you.

No warmth.

No desire.

No softness.

Just presence… without connection.

And my body feels it.

My energy feels it.

Everything in me feels it.

---

And I think that’s where I am now.

Not confused.

Just tired.

Tired of being talked down to.

Tired of overgiving.

Tired of feeling like I have to shrink just to keep things smooth.

---

I don’t want to beg anymore.

I don’t want to explain anymore.

I don’t want to compete, question, or overextend myself anymore.

---

I just want to feel like myself again.

The version of me that was calm.

Grounded.

Soft… but not self-abandoning.

---

And the truth is…

If I have to choose between feeling like this

or being alone and pouring into myself again—

Not clarity.

Not attention.

Not reassurance.

I’ve learned what it feels like when something is aligned…

and it doesn’t come with confusion.

So I’ve been sitting in my own energy lately.

Quiet.

Soft.

Aware.

Letting everything reveal itself without me interfering.

Because the truth is…

What’s meant for me doesn’t need to be pulled closer.

It comes forward on its own.

And anything that doesn’t…

I don’t question it anymore.

I let it go.

That’s the energy I’m working with now.

I used to sit in front of the mirror asking questions I already felt the answer to.

Hoping.

Waiting.

Trying to read between silence.

Now I sit differently.

Not searching…

not reaching…

not trying to understand what isn’t being shown.

Just present.

Just aware.

Just in my power.

There was a version of me that needed reassurance.

That needed consistency to feel safe.

That needed effort to feel chosen.

But the truth is…

The Empress doesn’t need proof.

She doesn’t chase clarity.

She doesn’t beg for alignment.

She doesn’t perform to be loved.

She becomes still…

and everything reveals itself.

Now I don’t ask, “Do you want me?”

I observe.

I don’t ask, “Where do I stand?”

I watch how I’m treated.

I don’t ask, “What does this mean?”

I let time expose it.

Because the right things don’t confuse you.

They meet you.

And anything that doesn’t…

falls away on its own.

I didn’t become cold.

I became unavailable for what doesn’t meet me.

That’s the shift.

That’s the power.

There was a version of me that would’ve reacted.

Not loudly… but internally.

Trying to connect timing.

Trying to read between actions.

Trying to confirm what I already felt.

That version of me believed awareness required response.

This one doesn’t.

⸻

Now… I notice.

That’s it.

No spiraling.

No chasing clarity.

No shifting my energy to match what I think might be happening behind the scenes.

Because I’ve learned something real:

Not everything you see is an invitation to engage.

Some things are just… information.

And information doesn’t require emotion.

It requires discernment.

⸻

People will watch you.

Closely. Quietly. Intentionally.

Sometimes out of curiosity.

Sometimes out of comparison.

Sometimes out of something they don’t even understand themselves.

But watching… is not access.

And it’s definitely not influence.

⸻

There was a time I would’ve adjusted.

Blocked everywhere.

Or overthought every move.

Or subconsciously moved in a way that acknowledged the audience.

Not anymore.

Now I move the same… regardless.

Because my life is not a performance.

And my peace is not conditional.

⸻

I set boundaries where they are needed.

Not where I’m trying to prove a point.

If there’s disrespect—access is removed.

If there’s silence—there’s nothing to address.

Everything doesn’t deserve the same level of response.

And everyone doesn’t deserve the same level of access.

⸻

So if you’re watching…

Watch.

Just understand—

You’re observing something you don’t have access to anymore.

And I’m not reacting to anything that doesn’t align with me.

⸻

Closing Line

“Observation isn’t connection.

It didn’t feel dramatic.

There was no sudden release.

No tears.

No moment where everything came crashing down.

⸻

It was quieter than that.

⸻

It felt like… space.

⸻

The kind of space

I used to fill with overthinking,

replaying conversations,

waiting for responses,

trying to make sense of things

that never made sense.

⸻

But this time,

I didn’t fill it.

⸻

I let it exist.

⸻

And in that space…

something unexpected happened.

⸻

My heart came back to me.

⸻

Not broken.

Not hardened.

Not closed.

⸻

Just… no longer attached.

⸻

For so long,

my emotions were tied to him.

To what he said.

What he didn’t say.

What he did.

What he might be doing.

⸻

My peace depended on

how consistent he was.

My mood shifted based on

how he showed up.

My heart wasn’t mine.

⸻

It was reactive.

⸻

But now?

⸻

I don’t check my phone the same.

I don’t wait the same.

I don’t feel pulled the same.

⸻

And it’s not because I don’t care.

It’s because I care differently now.

⸻

I care about:

• how I feel when I’m alone

• how I move when I’m not being watched

• how I protect my energy without explaining it

⸻

I care about me.

⸻

And that changed everything.

⸻

Because the truth is…

I didn’t lose my heart in love.

I lost it in overgiving.

⸻

In staying too accessible.

In trying to hold something together

that wasn’t holding me.

⸻

In confusing effort

with attachment.

⸻

So when I stopped…

When I stopped:

• chasing clarity

• explaining my boundaries

• making space for inconsistency

⸻

My heart had somewhere to return to.

⸻

Me.

⸻

🕯️ And I felt it in the smallest ways.

The silence didn’t hurt anymore.

The distance didn’t confuse me.

The lack of effort didn’t make me question myself.

⸻

It just… showed me.

⸻

And for the first time,

I didn’t try to rewrite what I was seeing.

⸻

I accepted it.

⸻

And in that acceptance,

I felt something settle inside me.

⸻

Not closure.

⸻

Ownership.

⸻

My emotions are no longer up for negotiation.

My energy is no longer up for access.

My presence is no longer automatic.

⸻

And my heart?

⸻

It’s still soft.

Still open.

Still capable of love.

⸻

But now…

it belongs to me first.

⸻

🔮 Mirror Inscription:

“My heart returns to me, whole and self-held.”

⸻

🕯️ Sigil Phrase:

There was a time

you could reach me whenever you wanted.

A call.

A text.

A shift in your mood.

And I would be there.

⸻

Not because I had nothing going on—

but because I made space for you

even when you weren’t making space for me.

⸻

I confused accessibility

with love.

I thought being available meant being valued.

But all it really did

was teach people

how easily I could be reached.

⸻

And once people learn that…

they move accordingly.

⸻

So I changed it.

⸻

Not out of spite.

Not to prove a point.

But because I realized:

the version of me that was always available

was not being respected.

⸻

So I became harder to reach.

⸻

I stopped answering right away.

I stopped picking up every call.

I stopped being emotionally on standby

for situations I didn’t create.

⸻

And something interesting happened.

⸻

The same people who had constant access to me

suddenly started:

• choosing their words more carefully

• reaching out with more intention

• noticing my absence

⸻

Because access is power.

And I had been giving mine away

without realizing it.

⸻

When I pulled it back…

respect followed.

⸻

Not because I demanded it.

But because I no longer allowed

disrespectful access to exist.

⸻

I didn’t become cold.

I became intentional.

⸻

If I respond,

it’s because I choose to.

If I show up,

it’s because it aligns with me.

If I don’t answer,

it’s because I’m not available—

and that’s okay.

⸻

I no longer feel guilty

for not being reachable.

I no longer feel responsible

for managing other people’s expectations of me.

⸻

Because I understand now:

the right people don’t need constant access

to respect you.

⸻

They adjust.

They meet you where you are.

They don’t push past your boundaries

just because they’re used to you bending them.

⸻

And the ones who don’t?

They reveal themselves.

⸻

🕯️ Becoming hard to reach

was never about creating distance.

It was about creating standards.

⸻

And now…

I’m not harder to love.

I’m just no longer easy to access

without intention.

⸻

🔮 Mirror Inscription:

“My presence is a privilege, not a guarantee.”

⸻

🕯️ Sigil Phrase:

There was a time

I needed to be understood.

I needed my intentions to be clear.

My feelings to be acknowledged.

My boundaries to make sense to the person receiving them.

⸻

So I would explain.

Over and over again.

In different ways.

Softer tones.

Longer messages.

More patience.

⸻

I thought if I could just say it the right way…

it would finally click.

⸻

But the truth is…

they already understood.

⸻

They just didn’t adjust.

⸻

And that’s when it hit me:

Explaining myself wasn’t creating clarity.

It was creating access.

⸻

Access to:

• question me

• push back

• delay accountability

• keep me in conversations that never changed anything

⸻

So I stopped.

⸻

Not out of anger.

Not to punish.

But because I realized something deeper:

My boundaries don’t need to be understood

to be respected.

⸻

I don’t need to:

• convince

• translate

• soften

• or justify

what I already know is right for me.

⸻

And the moment I stopped explaining…

everything got quiet.

⸻

No more long conversations.

No more emotional exhaustion.

No more going in circles trying to be heard.

⸻

Just… decisions.

⸻

“I’m not doing that.”

“I already said no.”

“I’m not available for this.”

⸻

And that’s it.

⸻

No paragraph after.

No follow-up explanation.

No guilt wrapped in softness.

⸻

Because I finally understood:

Every time I over-explained,

I was leaving the door open

for my boundary to be negotiated.

⸻

And I don’t negotiate

with what protects me.

⸻

If someone needs a full breakdown

just to respect me…

they’re not confused.

They’re comfortable.

⸻

Comfortable pushing.

Comfortable testing.

Comfortable knowing I’ll eventually bend.

⸻

But I don’t bend like that anymore.

⸻

Now, my silence says more

than my explanations ever did.

⸻

If I pull back,

it means something.

If I say no,

it stands.

If I don’t respond,

that’s the answer.

⸻

I don’t chase understanding anymore.

I choose alignment.

⸻

And if someone can’t meet me there…

they simply lose access.

⸻

🕯️ This wasn’t about becoming cold.

It was about becoming clear.

⸻

🔮 Mirror Inscription:

There are nights that change you loudly—

and then there are nights like this.

Quiet.

Focused.

Unapologetically clear.

---

I didn’t sit at my altar to beg for answers.

I didn’t light candles hoping he would change.

I didn’t pray for clarity about what he’s doing or who he’s with.

I already knew enough.

---

This night wasn’t about him.

It was about me taking my energy back.

---

💀 Devotion & Presence

I sat with Santa Muerte—not asking, not pleading—

just being seen.

She doesn’t require performance.

She doesn’t need long explanations.

She watches.

She witnesses.

She allows truth to reveal itself without interference.

And that’s exactly what I needed.

---

🕯️ The Candle Ritual — Transmutation, Not Protection

I didn’t want to block energy.

I wanted to transform it.

So I built my altar with intention:

🔺 Triangle of Transmutation

- 🖤 Black Candle (center, closest to her)

To absorb everything sent to drain me—confusion, inconsistency, emotional weight.

- 🟣 Purple Candle (front left)

To transform that energy into power, clarity, and control.

- 🌸 Pink Candle (front right)

To return that power back to me as self-worth, softness, and beauty.

- 🤍 White Candle (off to the side)

Not to act—but to witness, protect, and hold the space steady.

---

🔮 Sigil Work

I created a sigil and tied it around my black candle—

a physical representation of my intention:

“My peace is protected. My energy returns to me as power.”

At one point, the string caught fire.

For a moment, the flame rose higher than expected.

And instead of panicking…

I handled it.

I put it out.

I adjusted.

I stayed in control.

---

That moment said everything:

I don’t lose control anymore.

I correct and continue.

---

🔥 The Burn

For hours, the candles burned:

- tall

- steady

- calm

No chaos.

No struggle.

Just… consistency.

---

Then something shifted.

The black candle went out first.

---

And I understood immediately.

It had done its job.

It absorbed what it needed to absorb.

It closed that phase.

---

But the ritual didn’t stop.

The purple and pink continued burning—

still transforming, still returning energy to me.

And my white candle never wavered.

It stood there the entire time…

witnessing. holding. protecting.

---

🧿 Real-Time Reflection

Right in the middle of this ritual…

he called.

---

Asking for money.

Again.

---

I helped once.

Then he asked for more.

An Uber.

Another solution.

Another way for me to step in and carry something that wasn’t mine.

---

And for the first time…

I didn’t fold.

---

I said what I could do.

And I didn’t go beyond it.

No over-explaining.

No guilt-driven giving.

No emotional negotiation.

---

That was the real ritual.

---

Not the candles.

My boundary.

---

🖤 The Realization

I used to think I was holding us together with love.

But I wasn’t.

I was holding it together with:

- access

- availability

- overgiving

---

And the moment I stopped…

nothing stepped in to replace it.

---

That told me everything.

---

He says he’s trying.

He’s been saying that for years.

But trying without change

is just another version of staying the same.

---

And I’m not staying the same anymore.

---

🕯️ The Shift

I don’t rush to answer calls.

I don’t feel urgency to respond.

I don’t feel the need to explain myself.

I don’t even feel the same attachment.

---

And that used to scare me.

Now it doesn’t.

---

Because I finally understand:

I’m not losing him.

I’m losing the version of me that kept holding him in place.

---

💀 Closing

This wasn’t a night of chaos.

This was a night of control.

Of awareness.

Of correction.

Of quiet power.

---

The candles stayed steady.

Tonight I created my first sigil.

Not for control.

Not for revenge.

But for protection and return.

The intention was simple:

My peace is protected. My energy returns to me.

After removing the vowels and the repeating letters, the phrase reduced down to its bones:

M P C S R T D N G

I let the letters merge together until they became a single symbol — a quiet mark holding a loud truth.

Then came the part that felt the most sacred.

I folded the paper toward myself, again and again, making it smaller each time. Each fold felt like I was pulling my energy back home — reclaiming pieces of myself that had been scattered through arguments, expectations, and emotional labor.

When it was small enough, I lit the edge of the paper with the self-love candle that was already burning on my altar.

The pink flame caught the paper slowly.

I placed it in my fire-safe charcoal holder and watched it burn away.

No rushing.

No forcing.

Just letting the symbol release into the fire.

Ash replacing paper.

Intention replacing emotion.

Beside the flame stood Santísima Muerte — quiet, watchful, patient like she always is. The altar smelled like rose, lavender, jasmine, and calendula while the smoke curled upward.

I didn’t ask for anything complicated.

Just alignment.

Just protection over my peace.

Just the return of my own energy.

Sigils don’t shout.

They work beneath the surface.

They begin as words, become symbols, and then dissolve into the elements so the intention can move freely.

By the time the paper turned to ash, I felt the shift.

Not dramatic.

Not explosive.

Just a calm knowing settling into my chest.

The boundary was already spoken earlier today.

The sigil simply sealed it.

My peace stands where it belongs.

And whatever energy was taken from me…