*Names have been changed
When my soul mate, Shawn*, and I decided to separate within a year’s time, I surprisingly came to peace with the idea relatively quickly (read full story under “Letting Go of a Soulmate”). In the eight months prior to the actual separation, my friends continually asked me how I was doing.
“How are you? I’m sure it’s really hard, what you’re going through…”
“Actually, I’m feeling surprisingly good! Occasionally, I cry, but the emotions come and go within a matter of seconds and then I feel at peace.”
My friends would look at me a bit surprised and sympathetic–some would even look at me as though I were delusional–and respond with something to the effect of–“Ok, well when the time comes and when you really need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for you.”–implying that s*** was going to hit the fan at some point and that I could only delay the inevitable pain of the situation for so long. I was losing my soul mate after all. Or so it seemed on the surface.
I knew my friends meant well and I appreciated their support, but I had this nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, separations didn’t need to be that hard. Maybe they could happen peacefully, even joyfully, and we could celebrate the transition into a new phase of soul growth. Shawn and I genuinely believed, despite having previously thought that we would spend the rest of our lives together, that our separation was necessary to fulfill our Highest potentials. We intuitively knew this, and that knowing allowed us to come to peace with the decision rather quickly. So, I felt that once he actually left the country, I wouldn’t need a shoulder to cry on.
Despite this feeling, my mind would create elaborate negative fantasies of dramatic separation, full of tears and heartache. When I caught my mind doing this, I’d interrupt the fantasy and say “Maybe separations don’t need to be painful.” I would then fantasize about us saying goodbye with big smiles on our faces and happy tears in our eyes, feeling at peace in the moment and excited for the future. Yes–maybe separations could be filled with peace, joy, and excitement.
Fast forward to Shawn and I’s actual goodbye moment. It was beautiful. We indeed smiled at each other with happy tears in our eyes, and all we had left to say was, “Thank you for everything. I love you. Have the best adventure.” It was so simple and clear.
I drove away and prayed to my angels that I would go through this transition as gracefully as possible. In past break ups, I noticed I would either repress painful emotions and continually distract myself, or I’d do the opposite and excessively ruminate on the pain, licking my wounds until they bled over and over again. I wanted to do neither. So I asked my angels, “Please help me freely move any emotions that may arise, so that I neither repress them nor fixate on them.”
I wept briefly and then felt overwhelming peace and clarity. It seemed too good to be true. “Maybe separations don’t need to be painful,” I reminded myself.
The first few weeks after Shawn left, I’d have tears come and go within a matter of seconds. Same pattern: rush of emotion followed by peace. The time between these crying episodes lengthened until they stopped altogether. Really? Was that it? This seemed too good to be true; I looked over my shoulder for the impending doom, for the catastrophic heartache–but there was none to be seen. Over the next few days, the peace settled ever more deeply and I stopped looking over my shoulder. It’s been about three months now and the peace remains.
Turns out, separations don’t need to be painful. Separation can be peaceful and marked by joy and excitement.
I’ve realized that my past romantic break ups felt painful, not because of the actual separation, but because of my codependency and obsessive clinging that stemmed from my fear of abandonment. Codependency, obsessive clinging, fear of abandonment–those are the things that are unlike love. Love is not painful. What’s unlike love is painful.
Somewhere in my healing journey, I had overcome my fear of abandonment. I learned that nobody can abandon me because I always have myself; I am my own most loving nurturer. So in Shawn and I’s separation, there was only love. All that was unlike love had been worked out, and so, there was no pain.
Separation is not inherently painful; it’s merely a transition. We can move through this transition with love, and moving with love brings us ecstatic peace.
With all my love,
Gaia Sophia
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