Cord Cutting, But On Your Own Psyche

why it's so hard to cut someone out of your life or set a proper boundary, why hope is a poison to you, and how to attach to the things that matter

I did a cord cutting spell last night, which is a spell that involves taking two candles to represent you and the person you wish to severe your energetic tie to, tying a string around both candles and lighting them, and the energetic "cord" is cut once the flame of a candle gets low enough to burn off the string.

As I watched the candles flicker high and tried to read what the wax and sparks were telling me, I realized that this wasn't the first time I had cut a cord. The longest attempt of cord cutting had been me sporadically sawing at the relationship with my mother for the past decade. Igniting with a blow torch at first, then tip toeing in to tie a loose bow back together, only to come in with a hot machete, only to delicately mend with a blank Christmas card years later, the one that was signed, "All the best, Cole," instead of "Love, Cole," because I just can't bear to write anything that feels so intricately untrue.

But this cord cutting was different. The candle I lit wasn't for a specific person. It was for the part of me that wished this other person would change. Because I'm realizing more and more that I am the most important variable in this subtraction problem.

The ability to let go and truly release in a way that doesn't fuel resentment in you- like a past-curfew teenage bonfire, all built on toxic fluids found in a grandparent’s garage, unsustainable, meaningless- is a talent. It's what the Zen Buddhist monks study and attempt their whole lives, detachment. Because they understand what it is very clearly: suffering.

It's what makes our lives such hell on earth, isn't it? These tangled cords that bind us to the people we once loved, and still do, even when we hate them. Especially when we hate them.