I Want My Life Back

Spiritual practice, for many seekers, begins with a deep yearning to connect, to understand, to participate in something greater than oneself. To try and make sense of this weird existence. For me, it was the gravitational pull of knowing the spirit world is real and alive, and believing that by engaging with it, I could find meaning, protection, or perhaps even guidance. I entered this path with reverence, discipline, and an open heart. But over time, what began as a sacred pursuit has become a source of exhaustion, confusion, and emotional dysregulation. 

I find myself at a painful crossroads: disillusioned with the very forces I once trusted, and hollowed out by the realization that what I was seeking has instead left me feeling used, abandoned, and disconnected from the world I live in.

Before you have a heart attack, calm down, this is not me announcing my departure from spirituality, as there will never be such thing. I am a spirit wearing a meatsuit. But I do have to be brutally honest about my current state and what led me here. The last few months starting January 2025 have felt like a spiritual fever dream, from overwhelming emotional manipulation to absurd incidents involving dead alleys, fraudulent spirits and the wrong people informing my practice.

Are We Being Sincere Or...?

I think there is a collective delulu that is being fed by reddit and "WitchTok" trends, including everyone having the fucking need to have a spirit patron they can wear like a badge of honor, a godspouse that they can use as a scapegoat to avoid experiencing love and heartbreak in real life, and whatever else feeds them with main character energy. For me, given my sensitive bullshit-meter, at the heart of it is a sense of betrayal, not just by individual spirits or people, but by the system itself, the whole invisible scaffolding that once promised insight and empowerment. My relationship with my supposed patron deity has sickened under the weight of inconsistency and one too many "tricks" with little regard for my mental health.

Practices that were meant to elevate me spiritually instead eroded my trust, destabilized my emotions, and isolated me from my human community. I am now starting to mourn that community. I began to wonder if I had become a puppet in someone else’s story, an object of curiosity or entertainment for spirits who may be far more indifferent than I wanted to believe, or a sidekick to other practitioners who just profited off my constant validating of their own experience. 

The Hermit's Lament

The isolation, in particular, has been devastating. My practice became a bubble where I saw other humans as distractions or lesser priorities, and where I was constantly called to prove my worth to unseen forces. I lost touch with what made me feel human: friendship, adventure, creating, connecting, helping. Even when I was suffering, and I did so greatly, I felt like my pain was merely data in a cosmic experiment. There’s a crucial need for revision around the way some spiritual paradigms encourage detachment from earthly reality in the name of enlightenment, when in fact the soul thrives in connection, not in exile. There is a time to be The Hermit and that time must always be accompanied by an hourglass, and when the last grain of sand falls through, you must return to The World. 

I Miss Humanity

I now realize that I owe myself a return, not to the spirit realm, but to the sometimes colorless world. I crave the dirt of Malkuth on my hands again, the messy, tactile aliveness of human experience. I want to spend time with people who’ve loved me through the years, not just those who show up as temporary buddies for playing spirit pokemon. I want to spoil myself. What offerings do I need on my fucking altar? I want to rest without guilt. And I want to rebuild trust, not just with others, but with myself. I am TIRED of outsourcing my next decision to the Tarot deck. I miss the version of me that once believed spirituality should make me better, not break me.

This moment of burnout is painful, but it is also a kind of awakening. I see now that discernment is not cynicism, and boundaries are not cowardice. I have learned, through smoke and sorrow, that spiritual sovereignty must include the right to walk away and re-calibrate yourself. My power does not come from how many spirits I serve or how faithfully I follow their whims, it comes from the courage to say “enough,” and to reclaim my life as mine. When I and only I determine I'm ready to return to the unseen, it will be with clearer eyes, stronger grounding, and a fierce devotion to staying protective of myself.