Grieving the Version of You That Loved the Chaos
There’s a version of you who craved the highs, clung to the lows and called it passion.
She confused unpredictability with aliveness. She saw red flags as invitations. She mistook emotional hunger for love… and now—you’re grieving her.
🩸 The Addiction to Chaos
No one ever talks about how addictive chaos can be.
Especially when you grow up in an environment where love and anxiety arrived in the same breath. Where attention came with strings. Where you were praised for over-functioning, over-giving, over-explaining. When chaos is the rhythm of your upbringing, stability feels foreign. Even boring.
You seek out the messy. The intense. The unavailable… because it mirrors what love once looked like for you.
This was me.
I romanticized people who made me feel uncertain. I called it “chemistry” when someone disrespected me—because my nervous system was used to being on edge.
I was bored by men who treated me kindly, I didn’t know how to rest in softness. I had built an identity on surviving storms… Until the storms started killing me.
⚠️ Chaos Has a Cost
The version of me that loved chaos didn’t just cry herself to sleep… She lost weight in all the wrong places. She broke out in hives. She stopped trusting herself. She confused manipulation with magic. She said yes when her body screamed no. She wore lipstick and smiled, even as her soul was wilting.
In 2022, I spiralled. My skin erupted in rashes (again). My body fought me. My mind was in constant overdrive. That was the year I came to fully understand the man I was with… was a karmic detonator. It was magnetic. It was intoxicating. It was destructive.
I absorbed all of his unresolved wounds while imploding my own... and I stayed—for years, because I genuinely believed if I loved him hard enough, the story would rewrite itself.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
🕯️ The Breakup That Was Bigger Than Him
When I finally left, it wasn’t just him I mourned. I grieved the woman who waited for his calls. The woman who held space for his silence. The woman who begged her body to hold on for just one more round. I grieved the girl who believed that being chosen was the reward for suffering.
And once the storm passed, I stood in the wreckage—finally alone, but no longer empty.
⚰️ Letting the Old You Die
Grief is holy work and grieving who you used to be is one of the most sacred transitions of all. The girl who tolerated crumbs. The woman who dimmed her voice. The version of you who needed the chaos to feel alive—she’s not bad. She was just tired. Conditioned. Unaware.
She did what she knew. She danced with the dysfunction because it was familiar. Because it felt like home, but healing teaches you something radical: You don’t need to bleed to feel worthy of love.
💡 How to Know You’re Outgrowing Chaos
You crave peace more than passion. You no longer chase—energy, people, validation. You stop explaining your boundaries. You recognize that consistency isn’t boring—it’s safe. You’d rather be alone than in a room that silences you. You choose the quiet over the performance.
Letting go of chaos means letting go of the part of you that was addicted to adrenaline, drama and damage control.
And that’s grief… Deep, sobering, soul-cleansing grief.
🧘🏽♀️ Where I Am Now
I no longer crave the intensity I once did.
Now, I crave presence. Kindness. Spiritual maturity. My body is healing. My mind is quieter. I take longer to respond—and that’s a miracle. I’ve learned to sit with stillness. To cry without rushing the process. To be soft without fearing I’ll be destroyed.
But this peace? It didn’t come cheap. It cost me the comfort of dysfunction. It cost me the illusion that suffering earns you love. It cost me an identity I built from survival mode.. and it was worth every ounce of pain.
📘 The Book That Birthed from the Rubble
I wrote Fragments of a Dying Dream for the ones who’ve had to watch their old selves die.
It’s not just a poetry book. It’s an autopsy of heartbreak, healing, rebirtha and rage.
Every line was written during moments I couldn’t speak. It holds the echoes of sleepless nights, of false hope, of finding God in the silence after abandonment.
If you’ve ever felt like your wounds made you too much or not enough—this book is your mirror.
📖 Order Fragments of a Dying Dream on Amazon
Read it when you’re ready to let go of your former self, fully.
💌 Gentle Nudge
If you’re standing in that in-between space—where the old you is dead, but the new you hasn’t fully formed—I see you. You don’t have to walk it alone.
Book a tarot reading with me.
Let’s sit with your soul and hear what it’s trying to say. Let’s name what you’re grieving, honour ita and help you reclaim your light.
You don’t have to earn your peace. You just have to choose it.
