From Survival to Sovereignty | Part II

Bree
Jan 22
7 min read

Let's dive into the second part of this important series where accountability + reclamation guide me into seasons of recognition and embodiment.

Let's pick up exactly where we left off, shall we?

Okay, deep breath...Here we go!

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Moments after sending that text to my ex, I remember the details of that evening like it was yesterday, despite being ten years ago.

I was so nervous, anxious, and deeply afraid. I wasn’t quite sure what approach I wanted to take given that I’d had similar conversations with him each of which were met with love-bombing apologies that made me believe he would or could change, even though my intuition was repeatedly telling me something different. Before we met to have the conversation that evening, I paced back and forth in my apartment, puffing on a cigarette, going over the following questions:

What if he apologizes profusely, cries, and says that he’ll change? Will I be strong enough to lean into where I knew I was being called to go?
What if he suggests going to therapy? That’s something we haven’t yet tried—what if he pulls that card?
What will you do without him living here, taking up both physical and energetic space? Are you really going to put him out?? And where's he going to go???
Will you honestly be okay living alone?
Are you at peace with starting over again?

In all honesty, I didn’t have answers to all of those questions, and the last one almost crippled me. The idea of starting over after more than three years in this relationship, in this cycle and in this experience had become unbearable. How would I present myself on a date with a total stranger, knowing how profoundly traumatized I’d been, how deeply I’d been hurt, and how untrusting I’d become—not only of another man, but of myself? Given my choice to date someone like my ex, could I even trust myself to embody divine discernment in a way that would ever situate me to meet the man I deserved? Hell…what did I deserve?

My mind spiraled with all of these questions ahead of this important and necessary conversation, and while I didn’t have all the answers just yet, there was one thing I knew for certain: I needed to get out.

So he came by. I spoke my piece. And when it was his turn to respond, he did his usual—“Heather, I’m sorry…”—but truthfully, I heard nothing after that. It was fascinating really, because I went into the conversation genuinely interested to see how he would react to the severity in my voice and to the reality that this would be the last time we’d be having this conversation. Ever. And yet, when he opened his mouth, I truly didn’t hear a single word he had to say.

Looking back, I realize that’s what happens when your spirit speaks louder than what your mind thinks it’s open to hearing. It’s what happens when the version of you that someone is holding onto is no longer there, no longer available, and no longer listening.

When he finished, though my voice shaked, I affirmed that I was done, that the relationship was over and I told him he had to leave. I closed the door behind him and slid to the floor in tears. I cried for all the times I’d been silent in order to “save face” when to my face, he betrayed me over and over. I cried for all the times I'd betrayed myself in the name of staying, even when it had been revealed to me time and time again that it was time to leave. I cried for the version of myself I’d become to even vibrate at a frequency that would allow someone like him into my energetic field. And I cried for the distance I’d created between myself and the people who genuinely loved me in order to honor a relationship with a man who never could.

But as the final tear fell, I wiped my eyes, stood up, and took the deepest breath, knowing that though this was an unforeseen but necessary ending, it was also the new beginning my soul craved. This was it. I had been given another chance, and this time I wasn’t going to fuck it up—because I simply couldn’t afford to any longer.

I knew I’d always wanted to be married despite (or even because of) having divorced parents. I’d hoped that Spirit would bless me with motherhood—not just in the name of having children one day—but because I really wanted my own family. Not a broken one, like the one from which I came, but a genuine, loving collective of individuals connected through synergistic, agape love—steadfast in loyalty, commitment, vulnerability, transparency, and joy. I also knew I wanted to create a space where my children felt safe—not just in America, but within the home I’d create with the man I not only chose, but who chose me back...every single day. I wanted my future babies to feel seen for who they were born to be, loved for who they inherently were, and appreciated for having chosen a woman like me to be their mother.

But in order to even begin the process of manifesting that life, I had to sit with the fact that at that time, I was fundamentally unprepared to receive it. This had nothing to do with whether or not I deserved those things—I did—but I just wasn’t ready to hold them yet.

Instead of rushing to pursue something I wasn't prepared to hold, I instead needed to do the wildly uncomfortable thing of rediscovering and re-establishing a sense of self-worth, a sense of pride, hell…a sense of identity before I could even consider dating again. I needed to rediscover who I was before all of this chaos unfolded and who I’d become on the other side.

I also needed to sit with what had happened to me and consider what had actually happened for me, so I began asking myself:

What did I learn from the past 3 years?
What are my deal-breakers now? My standards?
What do I require in a partner and what may be required of me to be an equally-yoked partner to someone else?
How will I be intentional about still showing up for myself, even within a partnership?
How will I find balance between being in a relationship with someone else while prioritizing the relationship I have with myself, without ever losing sight of the bonds I’d built decades prior with my chosen family?

I didn’t know then that I was actually embarking on the journey of Shadow Work; going within to reflect not only on the trauma I’d experienced at the hands of my ex (which mirrored the pain I’d known as my mother’s child) but more importantly, to reflect on what that trauma had taught me. I also began to more carefully examine the role I played in its perpetuation and continuation, and what I had learned and gained from those experiences on the other side of it.

Though I didn’t have all the answers, nor did I know what awaited me on the other side, there was a quiet excitement deep within me—an inner knowing that things would shift in my favor if I was willing to make a shift within.

And that summer of 2016, I did.

I began with an eleven-day Isagenix cleanse, shedding so much physical (and energetic) weight that at its completion, I specifically remember standing in the mirror one

morning and saying out loud, “There you are.” From there—because it's true: once you begin seeing results, committing to the rest of the journey gets easier—I found a gym routine that stuck and worked beautifully.

During those months of Shadow Work, I realized that as a Scorpio sun, I admittedly have an obsessive and somewhat addictive personality. But I also learned that if I channeled that intensity into something positive, constructive, and contributive to the life I knew I wanted, I would be just fine. And that’s exactly what happened.

As the weight came off and I began to truly see myself again—growing stronger physically, and subsequently mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—I began to charge my worth in my business, and my finances blossomed. Because that was one of her strongholds over me, my mother didn’t enjoy the independence I was gaining; rather, she demonstrated deep resentment for it. She had always been a financial manipulator and frequently told me I was “bad with money,” (which over the years I'd internalized as truth), so distance inevitably had to be created ironically just as she was beginning to witness her daughter bloom. Ordinarily, you’d think a mother would feel pride watching her child come into herself but that wasn’t my experience nor was that my mother. That just wasn’t how she parented.

What really helped transform my relationship with her at that time was the fact that as I was beginning to see myself more clearly, I began to see her more clearly too—as both toxic and unhealed—and while I wasn’t ready to fully cut her off yet, I was becoming increasingly more comfortable with the distance that had formed. I no longer feared her reaction to the ways I was finally showing up for myself without her approval or validation. In fact, her subtle and not-so-subtle reactions during that transformative time told me everything I needed to know about how far along my journey she would be allowed to come, which is ironic given that 10 years later, we would be no-contact.

Still, at that time, I wasn’t prepared to walk away from her completely—because toxic or not, she was still my mother and as I was reclaiming a life without my ex, it felt like a bit of emotional/spiritual overkill to simultaneously go no-contact with my mother. The distance brought peace but later, I would find that no-contact was a better fit...but that's another post for another day.

Towards the end of the summer/early fall, my social life picked back up and my friends opened their arms wide, offering comfort, compassion, and understanding for where I’d been and what I'd been through, along with unwavering support for where they saw me going. For the first time in a really, really long time, things were aligning in the most beautiful ways. I no longer feared being alone; in fact, I'd fallen deeply in love with solitude. Having cleansed my space of his energy and reclaimed what was now a peaceful incubator for my transformation, I felt like I was finally beginning to embody the version of myself I’d always prayed to become.

And then, one fall evening in September—out with friends, basking in what it felt like to finally have footing in my life, my finances, my business, and my spiritual grounding—my best friend called an Uber.

I got in.

And I met someone I never expected would cross my path...

My husband.

...who since meeting me that night in 2016, has only ever called me one name.

And that name is Bree.