The Contract

I’ve done all kinds of things trying to understand and find meaning in what happened—in what was, for a long time, the most important relationship of my life.

I researched. I read.

I went to therapy, consulted with experts, and explored every possible avenue of why.

Why him?

Why the timing?

Why love again, only to be betrayed on every level—

after love had already been so cruel to me?

What was I supposed to learn from this?

Was it random—or destiny?

I have never been a big believer in destiny or waiting for God to show you the way.

I believe we are the creators of our existence and have spent decades creating me—learning, evolving, attributing painful lessons to growth along the way.

But life happens,

and sometimes the work of a higher power shows its face.

Sometimes something so precise, so orchestrated, so painfully perfect in its timing

makes you question everything you thought you understood about free will.

That’s what happened to me.

In trying to make sense of the unimaginable,

I found myself stepping beyond what I’d always believed—

beyond logic, beyond psychology,

and into something more mysterious.

I don’t follow the norms of religion, despite my very Christian upbringing.

And while I talk to God often,

I don’t see the world through a single doctrine.

My faith is expansive—

into the cosmic, the mystical,

the spaces where science and spirit,

intuition and intellect,

start to blend.

That’s where I began encountering new language for old truths:

Soul mates. Twin flames. Soul contracts.

At first, I brushed them off as spiritual clichés,

but as I started reading and reflecting, they began to take shape.

Soul mates are the people who teach us through peace.

They bring familiarity, harmony, and recognition.

They help us remember who we are when the world makes us forget.

The lesson is love.

That definitely wasn’t it.

Twin flames are different.

They teach us through fire.

They ignite and reflect every shadow we’ve tried to hide.

They shatter illusions, forcing transformation through chaos.

The lesson is awakening—

for both parties.

That wasn’t it either.

For a long time, I thought maybe he was my twin flame.

The intensity, the magnetism, the way he mirrored my wounds—it all fit.

But twin flames evolve together.

The fire burns both clean.

That’s not what happened.

Our evolution was not the same.

I grew. He hid.

So now I see it differently.

What we had wasn’t a twin flame connection.

It was a soul contract.

Soul contracts aren’t a kind of relationship.

They’re the framework beneath them—

the sacred agreements souls make before coming here

to meet, to trigger, to teach, to push, to heal, to end.

The roles can vary: lover, friend, enemy, teacher, catalyst.

But the purpose is always growth.

A soul contract doesn’t promise happiness.

It promises expansion.

And sometimes heartbreak is the delivery system for that expansion.

That’s what this was.

A spiritual agreement made long before I ever met him—

not to love forever,

but to catalyze change.

To break open what still needed to heal.

To strip away everything false so I could finally stand in truth.

Because I’d been here before—different faces, same ache.

The pattern was always the same:

I overgave. I explained. I hoped. I tried.

And every time, love became the crucible that burned away another layer of illusion.

But this time, the fire finished its work.

This time, the contract was written to end the repetition.

Our paths crossed by design,

not for permanence,

but for liberation.

He arrived as the test I didn’t know I was ready for,

and when the lesson was complete, the contract dissolved.

It wasn’t meant to last forever.

It was meant to change me forever.

And it did.

It taught me that my love is sacred—

but not my penchant for self-abandonment.

That standards and boundaries are essential to own.

That not every soul I meet is worthy of me—

and it’s okay to walk away.

And it taught me that true, healthy love

should never feel that way,

no matter how beautifully it’s presented on the silver platter of illusion.

I no longer need to know why in the human sense.

The soul already knows.

The contract fulfilled itself.

And now, what remains is integration—

turning the pain into wisdom,

and the wisdom into power.

The final clause of the agreement, I think,

was to break the pattern once and for all:

to rise—whole, awake,and carry what I’ve learned

into the next chapter of destiny.

To welcome myself home, forever and always.