I made an emotional post about that a year ago. In short, it outlined how Baby Daddy walked out the door 4 months after our daughter was born, and ghosted me.
As a teenage single mother, I raised my daughter alone, and in silence. I never criticised him. In fact, I never spoke of him at all. I simply erased him from our lives like he never existed and went on to have a fulfilling life.
And then 35 years later, on New Year’s Day last year, the anger of being ghosted and left alone surfaced. I made a cathartic FB post about it, which helped to move the upset out of my system. He then returned to being a distant memory, and inconsequential--chapter closed.
Or so I thought.
Today, I found out he’s been stalking me under a fake profile. He even messaged me, ranting about my post from last year, claiming it was all lies and painting himself as the victim. He demanded I call him to “sort it out,” dropping his number as if I owed him a response, as if his opinion mattered to me. I owe him nothing.
Not a call, not an explanation, not even my attention.
He doesn't get to barge into my space, guns blazing, demanding my energy. Nobody does. Nobody gets to dominate, manipulate, or threaten me. I am the authority in my life. And my attention is a privilege, not a right.
The truth is, he can offer me nothing. His absence was a gift. It forced me to grow, to heal, and to become more powerful than I ever imagined.
I let go of him long ago.
But this isn’t really about him.
It’s about knowing that no one’s opinion of us can define who we are or what we do.
I let go of the need for anyone to like me, agree with me, or make me feel worthy or safe a long time ago. I am now rooted in my own self-resourced strength, trust, and power.
Validation, acceptance, safety, and comfort don’t come from anyone else--they come from me.
This inner power comes from letting go.
What affects me the most about this interaction is that, 35 years later, he’s still trapped, still holding on to something that doesn’t matter. That makes me sad for him.
Holding on to the past is torture.
It chains us, limits us, and suffocates the joy out of life.
Holding on makes us weak and powerless.
It keeps the future we dream of out of reach.
The way to a beautiful, uplifting, and exciting future is through letting go.
Let Go. Live. Love.
Letting go is one of the most profound acts of self-love. It’s not about forgetting or ignoring the past--it’s about honoring yourself enough to release what no longer serves you, so you can rise into a better place.
When we let go of pain, resentment, guilt, or unmet expectations, we’re choosing our own peace and freedom. We’re saying, “I am worthy of joy. I am worthy of ease. I am worthy of a life unburdened by the past.”
Letting go isn’t weakness; it’s courage. It’s the brave choice to trust yourself, to love yourself enough to loosen the grip of what’s holding you back. Self-love is the foundation of this process. It’s the strength that allows us to say, “I deserve better, and I choose better.”
That's why I've created a workshop. It's for those who want to let go of a thing, but have a hard time doing it on their own. .This workshop is about helping you step into that space of self-love, freedom, and liberation.
**If there’s something you can’t release--**a relationship, an injustice, family pain, work conflict, or regrets--bring it to this workshop. By the end, you’ll feel unburdened, light, free, and full of new possibilities. You'll literally wipe the slate clean and move into 2025 feeling fresh, renewed and ready to do what you love.
This is about no longer holding on. It's about:
Letting go.
Building resilience to thrive.
Tapping into inner strength.
Leaving the past in the past so you can move forward towards something better.
It's about developing inner peace, joy, and confidence.
So you can lift your life to new heights.
Your journey to freedom, power, and self-love begins now.
Relationships are hard. Karmic relationships are even harder.
I knew it was a karmic relationship because the connection was instant and undeniable. Falling in love wasn’t a slow burn; it was a searing flame that ignited the moment he entered my life. Though we’d only just met, I felt like I’d known him forever. I knew nothing about this man--nothing except that I loved him. In the beginning, when his charm was at its peak, he asked me a question: "Belinda," he said, "Other men may stimulate your mind, or pull on your heart, but who, pray tell, will stir your soul?" 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 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. Later, I came to understand that the eerie familiarity and instant chemistry were a kind of soul memory. When two deeply bonded souls from a previous incarnation meet again, the familiarity of their connection spills from the past into the present. I had no awareness of our history--no sense of the when, what, or how--but I did know that souls recognize souls. They don’t forget, especially not what remains unresolved. My soul remembered everything: his essence, our bond, and the history that had drawn us together once more. Though I didn’t know the details of our past, I was certain of one thing: there was unfinished business between us.
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. 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 -and completely addicted. 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.
Once a confident, strong, and fiercely independent woman, karmic love reduced me to a weak, needy, codependent version of myself. I lost myself in this otherworldly connection. 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 in his presence, 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 dizzy, flustered, and no longer in control of myself. Even so, each day, I craved more.
This love was no ordinary love. It was a great love. One that defied reason, circumstance, and all odds. Together, we overcame barriers that most wouldn’t dare to face--age, geographical distance, cultural divides, and the kinds of trials that test the very limits of human endurance--each challenge deepening our bond and making the ecstasy and rapture all the more profound.
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.
Raging storms and emotional hurricanes? I can weather them without flinching. But silence, unavailability, and withdrawal? These are my Achilles’ heel, and my undoing. Coincidentally--or perhaps not--his weapon of choice was precisely that: withdrawal, unavailability, and silence.
To punish my defiant spirit and unapologetic boldness, he wielded them liberally, triggering, degenerating, and unraveling me.
And I, refusing to be undone, punished him for punishing me, and in return fled--his own undoing. In truth, none of it was coincidence. It was the inevitable clash of two wounded souls, each holding a mirror to the other’s deepest vulnerabilities.
After years of weapons, defenses, combat, and strife, I tried to escape the tempest and leave once and for all. But in those moments of disconnection, the emptiness of his absence consumed me; I ached, longed, and yearned for him--the pain of separation was unbearable. Desperate to escape the discomfort of my loss, I clung to any rationale that could justify going back to him. "Given the depth of our connection, it would be a tragedy to end it," I told myself. "I've invested so much", "This time will be different. I’ve learned. He’s learned. I’ve changed. He’s changed. We’ve grown. We’re different. Let’s try again," I reasoned.
And yet, not much did change. The dynamics were firmly entrenched. In between the blissful but sparing moments of love and unity, the relationship was consistently messy and difficult. We often 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 when away from him, amnesia set in, another part forgot the struggles and only remembered the great need for him, and the passion.
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. Push. Pull. Come. Go. Yes. No. On. Off. From super high to super low. The cycle repeated. And repeated. Until it resembled a very clunky 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.
It might be hard to imagine, but 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, and to offer a profound path for healing, learning, growth, and evolution - I could clearly see that. Everything I’d avoided, buried, and hidden from myself surfaced. It was deeply confronting, but as someone highly committed to personal and spiritual development, I recognized the gift being presented to me. This was an opportunity to face my "stuff" and finally work through it. I’ll embrace this, I thought.
Given the stunning connection, all the turmoil could be seen as a disappointing outcome. At the time, I thought so too. 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. The tectonic plates of transformation WILL shift. They will be eruptions.
They're supposed to. They're alchemical. Alchemy is hot laborious work. It requires heat and pressure; that's the only thing that can melt away the dross and impurities of the past and transmute them into gold. There will definitely be fire, intensity, and turbulence.
But we’re not supposed to live in that environment--we're supposed to just visit it, experience it, use it, and be transformed by it. There’s no luxuriating in the comfort of the relationship. 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 healing, self-mastery and spiritual evolution.
I live for all those things, so I wasn't too daunted by the idea of the relationship ending. Despite the intense magnetism and the spiritual connection, I could accept it couldn’t be a forever relationship and would have to come to an end.
But what I didn't know is that evolution comes at a cost.
I had no idea the price I'd have to pay.
Bringing the relationship to a close, letting it go, and moving on is a critical aspect of a karmic 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 super glue is more than sticky--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 an unresolved past. It taps into past life trauma, and at the same time, it simultaneously ignites this life’s abandonment and attachment wounds. Childhood trauma plays a significant role in karmic love. It is a tangled thread of deep pain and wounding that runs between childhood and a previous incarnation. I couldn’t simply end it, walk away, and close the door behind me. There was so much activated wounding. 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 like I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just heartbreaking; it was wrenching. Each time I tried to walk away, it
felt as if he were clutching my heart, tearing it from my chest, leaving behind a dark, hollow, bleeding void that threatened to hemorrhage. It was as though the blood, air, and life drained from my body--a slow, agonizing death. Without him, my demeanor changed, as if a part of me had died.
so no matter how strongly I wanted to leave the relationship behind, it felt impossible. I attempted many, many times. But having a very low threshold for blood and death, I failed many, many times, and found my way back many, many times.
I held on for so long because I couldn’t bear to be without him, and also because I am an eternal optimist. No matter how bad the problem or how dire the situation, I believe there’s always hope. Hope and understanding--two qualities I have an endless supply of--can help us make it through anything. But in this case, a little bit of delusion and a lot of hope kept me in the game far too long. Hope dragged me back, time and time again, even when I knew better. Hope became a problem. Letting go of hope felt like letting go of who I am, and I did not know how to not be me.
Fear and hope had me hooked, locked in, trapped. Unable to reconcile my inability to leave for good, I chose to see each reunion as confirmation of our great love and inseparability, and the bond grew tighter.
But now I see the truth: an inability to leave is not evidence of love. Attachment is not love. Neediness is not love. Clutching out of fear is not love. Obsession is not love. Falling in love with someone’s potential is not love. Clinging to hope without question is not love. And most importantly, a past life connection does not guarantee compatibility in this one. Having said that, my leaving was not due to an absence of love. Despite the constant upset, there was so much love and chemistry--he will always have a place in my heart. My leaving was about recognizing the deeper influences at work and refusing to let my naivety blind me. It was about nurturing the emerging love and respect I was beginning to develop for myself. Leaving is also about something else. I didn't know it at the time, but there's an art to ending a karmic relationship. That art requires skill, grit and determination--which I did not yet have. I had to learn how to leave. To truly leave, I had to do something radical. I had to say "no" to my soul. Human Belinda had to recognize that my soul was willing--perhaps even eager--to continue this dysfunctional dance for years more, maybe even lifetimes more. My soul remembered the love, the bond, the patterns, and it kept hooking me back in, longing for resolution, for completion. But the point wasn’t to keep dancing--it was to stop. That involved confronting myself--my flaws, fears, and the deep terror of abandonment that bound me to him. Self-confrontation was the first step, perhaps the most difficult. Then, somehow, I had to gather greater inner resources, summon more strength, and reclaim my personal power. That was the only way out. Ultimately, I couldn’t simply walk out--I had to GROW my way out-- to work my way out, to GRIEVE and heal my way out. A karmic tie is like crack for the soul, and the only way to put it behind you is to summon the courage, go cold turkey, white-knuckle your way out with grit and determination, and then do the work of healing. Doesn't sound fun. That's because it's not. But this is the very point of it--to be so troubled and disturbed by the discord that we’re forced to confront our attraction to it - specifically 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. Karmic love is about leaving. It’s hard, for sure. But I know this is why he showed up. This was a large part of the relationship--to shine a light on our weak spots that take us to our edge, 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 grew enough to step off the rollercoaster ride from hell and never return. I grew enough to bleed out every illusion I ever had about him, me, us. And when the bleeding finally stopped, I found myself again. Only this time, I was better. Stronger. Wiser. More. There is beauty and power in who I became. But it came at a cost--the high price of deep inner work, change, maturation, and transformation. Specifically, the willingness to go deeply into pain, into emptiness, into the terror of the abyss.To confront my deepest fear--the fear of abandonment--I touched the bottom of the abyss--and it didn’t destroy me, I didn’t die. But I did more than survive what was once unsurvivable. I also gained was a warrior spirit--not from strength, fearlessness, or invulnerability, but from absolute vulnerability and the willingness to go deeply into the terror of pain. Ultimately, I gained far more than I lost. I gained a warrior spirit - not from strength, fearlessness or invulnerability, but from absolute vulnerability - which is the willingness to go deeply into pain, emptiness and that hollowness. I touched the bottom of the abyss. What I understand now is that ending relational turmoil rooted in trauma bonds--or lifetimes of unresolved connection--is an exceptional achievement, one worthy of high praise. But ending it with dignity and grace? That’s a whole other thing. Don’t count on it--it rarely happens. Given the tumultuousness and hurt feelings, I could easily have berated myself for not leaving sooner, for ignoring red flags, for being weak-willed, for discovering my worst self--for the mess I left behind. But I refuse to be harsh with myself. My experience was brutal enough. Instead, given the immense challenge I was up against, I choose to congratulate myself for even reaching the point 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. Because severing ties isn’t simply an act of separation--it’s a process of unbecoming, which requires growth and development. But most importantly, it requires raising my standard of relating, and no matter what, upholding them. Creating new standards for myself, that would finally allow me to break up and leave for good, I had to confront the part of me drawn to emotional distance, unavailability, walls of unresponsiveness, inconsistency, and drama. I had to take the matches from her hand and say, "No more playing with danger--I’m the adult here, and you can rely on me from now on." With compassion, I tended to her when she longed for him and learned to give myself the understanding and care I’d spent years silently screaming and fighting him for-and sometimes not so silently. I had to grow and evolve into someone who stopped outsourcing her needs--someone who could meet herself fully, hold herself fully, and stand strong in her truth, independence, and competence once more. I had to value myself more than I valued him or the inconsistent and unsatisfying breadcrumbs of attention I received. 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. He took me to my edge, and I leapt--choosing courage, growth, and myself over repetition and stagnation. As I fell out of love with him, I fell in love with me, growing happy, even excited, to be on my own. Out of nowhere, he showed up in my world and altered the course of my life. But when I finally showed up for myself, I altered the course of my future. Ultimately, the journey from enchantment to disillusionment to empowerment was unforgettable--beautiful, transformative, and necessary. Whether karmic or not, wounds are magnets, and relationships are catalysts for profound healing and growth--a sacred exercise in expansion and a holy initiation into spiritual evolution. On the other side of the fire lies spaciousness, freedom, ease, and a deep sense of pride in knowing I dared to do the work that due to it’s difficulty, most people won’t do. Emerging from the ashes, I stand taller, wiser, and more at peace--transformed into the person I was always meant to be. I carry the lessons earned through fire into a life finally liberated from the patterns of the past - a life on my terms. Finally putting down coping mechanisms, and coming out of survival mode, not only did I survive, and gain freedom--I became.