Relationships are hard.
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Karmic relationships are even harder.

I knew it was a karmic relationship because the connection was instant and undeniable when we met. Falling in love wasn't a slow burn; it was a blazing, hot flame that ignited the moment we met. In that first meeting, I had no idea who he was, but he felt familiar—like I'd known him forever, like he belonged to me. I knew absolutely nothing about this man, but I knew I loved him.

Later, I understood the instant chemistry to be soul memory. It’s the familiarity that arises when two love-struck souls of the past reconnect. I didn’t know what those circumstances were—not the when or the how—but the moment we met, my soul remembered it all: his soul, the bond, our history, and where we left off.

In the beginning, when his charm was at its peak, he asked me a question: "Belinda," he said, "Other men may stimulate your mind and quench your thirst for knowledge; they may even love and adore you, but who, pray tell, will stir your soul?"
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For him, they were carefully crafted words, designed to seduce. For me, they were no ordinary words—they were a potion sprinkled with divine magic. Those words stunned me, challenged me, and beckoned to me like a spellbinding invocation. In that moment, I felt my physical and spiritual worlds collide, and a silent inner explosion reshaped my entire universe. He had no idea of the magnitude of his effect on me; I downplayed it, even to myself. But his words rooted themselves so deeply inside me, they became both a promise and a haunting. His presence shook me to my core, and those words were the tremor that set everything in motion. My soul didn’t just stir—it awakened, and I came undone.

And that wild, unearned love? That wasn’t cellular memory—it wasn’t my body retracing old, familiar patterns. It was soul memory—or soulular memory, if you will. My soul recalled the dance of love etched into our interdimensional timelines. All he had to do was appear, and the magic and love woven deep into the fabric of time ignited once more. Even without human awareness, souls recognize souls. They don’t forget—especially not what’s unresolved. This wasn’t a chance meeting; it was by design and by agreement, made long before we met. There was unfinished business to tend to.
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But before the business, there was pleasure. So. Much. Pleasure.

Karmic love, in its infancy, is captivating, enchanting, and enthralling. At first, his gaze woke me from a sleepy slumber. I felt alive, seen, and lifted to new heights of love and joy. The connection was intoxicating and ineffable. We two became one, as if we were the only two people in the entire universe. Passionate and consuming, the fumes of multidimensional attraction left me swooning. It was addictive—but not in a chocolate type of way. In a way that was all-consuming—intense, obsessive, urgent, and disruptive—a crack cocaine type of way.

I lost myself in this otherworldly connection. Once a fiercely independent, stoic woman, karmic love reduced me to a weak, codependent, needy version of myself. His galactic magnetism had the suction power of a jet engine turbine. It pulled me into some type of multidimensional vortex that was impossible to resist, and the Belinda I’d once known was gone. A part of me loved it, but another part was deeply disturbed. Love it or hate it, I knew exactly what it was—it was a soul-deep, cosmic connection that left me flustered, dizzy, and without control of myself. Even so, each day, I craved more.

It was a great love, there was ecstasy, and rapture, for sure. But as the honeymoon phase faded, cracks began to show. Things got rocky. Disconnection set in, misunderstandings brewed, tempers flared, and feelings were hurt—mostly mine. He found my Achilles' heel: silence, unavailability, and withdrawal. To punish me for my unapologetic boldness and defiant spirit, he wielded them liberally. My reflexive flight response, in turn, punished him for punishing me.

After years, of weapons, combat and strife, I tried to escape the tempest and leave. But emptiness and silence lingered in the air afterwards and the pain of separation was unbearable. I relented, came back, and rationalised: This time it'll be different. I’ve learned. He's learned. I've changed. He’s changed. We’ve grown. We’re different. Let's try again.

And yet, not much did change. The dynamics were firmly entrenched. The relationship was messy and difficult. We both put up and encountered each other's impenetrable walls of stubbornness. At times, it was all too much, and I sank to depths I didn't know existed. It wasn’t his fault, though. The red flags were there early on. I ignored them—worse, I ran straight toward them. Karmic love scrambled my brain. A part of me knew we couldn’t work, but during time away from him, amnesia set in, another part forgot the struggles and only remembered the passion, and the great need for him.

In those moments of disconnection, I ached, yearned, and longed for him. It was unbearable for more than a week. And given the depth of connection, it felt like a tragedy to end it, so we always found a way to reconnect. Soon enough, our relationship felt like a dance; one of us moving forward, the other moving back. One running, one chasing. On again, off again. "I love you, I need you, I can’t live without you," one minute. "I’m done, go away," the next. Come. Go. Yes. No. On. Off. From super high to super low. The cycle repeated. And repeated. Until it resembled an Argentinian tango.

Eventually, being near him became as hard as being apart. Volatile and unpredictable, triggers became the only constant. His words and actions pressed into wounds I didn’t even know existed. As his presence unraveled me, the wise, grounded self I once knew slipped away, replaced by someone resentful, emotionally reactive, and insecure. And my lover, who I adored? He was no longer who I'd fallen in love with. He became a broken, distorted mirror, reflecting every wound and ugly shadow I had yet to face.

Karmic love is profoundly messy—a battlefield for the soul, where beauty and chaos collide.

What began as passion, electricity, and a deeply satisfying connection became hard work—combative and exhausting.

How did it come to this? Where did the magic go? What on earth am I doing?

On one level, the relationship felt confusing, undeserved, and like a train wreck. On another, it was going exactly to plan.

These relational troubles, although extremely unpleasant, weren’t for no reason. There was nothing random or accidental about them. The whole experience was destined. My soul orchestrated this modern-day earthly catch-up for the purpose of bringing unresolved traumas to the surface and resolving them once and for all.

This cosmic connection existed to wake me up, to make me more conscious, to provide me with a beautiful opportunity to heal, learn, grow, and evolve. Everything I’d avoided, buried, and hidden from myself surfaced. It was extremely confronting, but I recognized the immense opportunity being presented to me. It was time to address and work through my "stuff."

Given the stunning connection, all the turmoil could be seen as a disappointing outcome. I thought so too, at the time. But now, I see that karmic relationships aren’t designed for permanence. They’re not even designed for ease or comfort. They’re built on a fault line.

They will erupt.

There will be fire, intensity, and turbulence—they're alchemical. Only heat and pressure can melt away the dross and impurities of the past and transmute them into gold.

Alchemy is hot, laborious work.

We’re not supposed to live in that environment—just visit it, experience it, and be transformed by it. There’s no luxuriating in the comfort of it. Which isn’t really a bad thing because, as any athlete striving for gold will tell you, comfort doesn’t challenge us, and ease doesn’t teach us. They don’t stretch, test, or transform us.

Karmic relationships do.

They demand everything from us, pushing us to the edge of who we are. They are the greatest opportunity for self-mastery and spiritual evolution.

I live for spiritual evolution, so I wasn't too daunted by the idea of things going awry. Despite the intense magnetism and the spiritual rewards, I could accept it couldn’t be a forever relationship and would have to come to an end.

But evolution comes with a cost.

I had no idea the price would be the rigorous inner work of change, maturation, and transformation.

Bringing the relationship to a close, letting it go, and moving on is a critical aspect of this relationship's higher purpose. But letting go and moving on after an intoxicating cocktail of soul-stirring magic, rapture, and cosmic connection is no easy feat.

This isn’t a regular relationship; you can't just leave a karmic relationship.

You have to dismantle the bond.

But dismantling a bond forged from interdimensional spiritual super glue is more than sticky and tricky—it’s a monumental undertaking. No, that’s still an understatement.

The truth is, leaving a karmic love is a soul project, one not for the faint of heart but for those with spiritual courage and ambition. It’s the test of a lifetime—perhaps the test of many lifetimes.

That’s because leaving taps into unresolved past-life trauma while simultaneously igniting this life’s abandonment wounds. I couldn’t simply end it, walk away, and close the door behind me. Parting ways was excruciating—like falling into an endless abyss, unsure if I’d ever reach the bottom.

The loss was so profound that even imagining the depths of that pain felt suffocating, as though it might drown me entirely. It wasn’t just heartbreaking; it was a wrenching—a slow, solitary death. Each time I tried to walk away it felt as if he was clutching my heart, tearing it from my chest, leaving behind a bleeding, hollow void that threatened to hemorrhage.

I attempted to let go many times. But having a very low threshold for blood and death, I failed many times and found my way back many times. Each reunion was seen as confirmation of our great love and inseparability, and the bond grew tighter.

But the truth is, an inability to leave is not evidence of love.

Attachment is not love.
Neediness is not love.
Clutching due to fear is not love.
And a past life chemistry does not mean this life compatibility. 

An ending was necessary.

But there is an art to ending a karmic relationship. It requires skill—which I did not have. I had to learn how to leave.

That involved confronting myself—all my flaws, fears, and the deep terror of abandonment that bound me to him. I had to tend to my bleeding wounds with compassion and learn to give myself the care I had always sought from others. I had to do the sacred work of grieving.

Then I developed greater self-awareness, gathered inner resources, and reclaimed my power. That was the only way out.

Strength didn’t appear overnight, but somehow, I did manage to access more courage. And the power I once abdicated was reclaimed too.

Ultimately, I couldn’t simply walk out—I had to GROW my way out. GRIEVE my way. WORK my way out. A karmic tie is like crack for the soul, and the only way to put it behind yoex is to summon the courage, do the work, go cold turkey, and white-knuckle your way out.

Sounds disturbing.

That’s because it is.

But this is the very point of it—to be so troubled and disturbed by it that we’re forced to confront our attraction to our role in the victim, villain, rescuer dynamic. All the turmoil, poor treatment, accusations, neglect, and unavailability—that toxic dance of dysfunction—only stops when we grow enough to develop firm boundaries and find our way out.

It’s hard, for sure. But this is why he showed up.

This is the point of the relationship—to shine a light on our weak spots so we may heal them and do the valiant work of transforming them into strength and wisdom. These relationships are designed to teach us how to stop seeking love, comfort, safety, and connection from people who can’t give it to us. They stir our soul, shake us up—even destabilize us—until we find a new way to be, until we become who we’re meant to be.

Essentially, their purpose is to harass us into healing and expansion.

Eventually, I did grow enough to get off the rollercoaster ride from hell and stop coming back. I bled out every illusion I ever had, and when the bleeding finally stopped, I found myself again. Only I was better. Stronger. Wiser. More. I gained more than I lost. 

What I understand now is that ending relational turmoil that’s been in existence for lifetimes is an exceptional achievement—one worthy of high praise. But ending it with dignity? That’s a whole other thing.

Don’t even think about it—it rarely happens.

I don’t even bother judging myself for how many red flags I ignored or how long it took to leave. I refuse to beat myself up for the blindness, the weakness, the naivete, or for discovering my worst self. I simply congratulate myself that I even got to a place where it ended.

Because the truth is, entering into a karmic relationship is like entering the Spiritual Olympics.

And exiting one is like winning gold.

The work of interrupting a cycle that’s played out for lifetimes is the deepest, most profound work we can do. It teaches us how to get on our own team and move towards something better. But severing ties isn’t simply an act of separation—it’s a process of unbecoming, which requires learning and growing your way out of the relationship.

To finally break up, I had to grow up and evolve into someone who could meet herself fully and stand strong in her own truth and competence once more. That’s how I knew I’d become who I was meant to be—I no longer clutched, grasped, or needed him. Each step away from him brought me closer to myself, and I became happy, even excited, to be on my own.

Ultimately, the journey from enchantment to disillusionment to empowerment was memorable, beautiful, empowering and necessary,

Whether karmic or not, relationship as a catalyst for profound growth is a sacred exercise in expansion. It's a holy initiation into spiritual evolution. profound portals for growth—if we choose to step through them. They demand courage, vulnerability, and the willingness to face ourselves fully. On the other side lies spaciousness, freedom, ease, and a deep sense of pride in knowing you’ve done the work.

Emerging from the ashes, I stand taller, wiser, and more at peace, carrying the lessons earned through fire into a life finally lived on my own terms, liberated and free of the past. 

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