Closure, Forgiveness, and Moving On

The Difference Between Holding On and Actually Healing

Are You Healing, or Are You Still Holding On?

Let's talk about three things people often confuse with one another.

Closure. Forgiveness. Moving on.

Three very different processes that people frequently treat as though they're dependent on someone else.

"I just need one more conversation."

"I need them to explain why they did what they did."

"I need answers."

"I can't forgive them until they apologize."

"I should have seen the red flags sooner."

"I just need them to understand how badly they hurt me."

Sound familiar?

Here's the uncomfortable truth.

You can spend years waiting for another person to give you something that was never entirely theirs to give you in the first place.

Sometimes, the reality is that their behavior has already given you some of the answers.

They're choosing to remain silent, perhaps even blaming you for everything that happened.

But we all know it takes two to tango.

Both people are responsible for their own choices and contributions to a relationship. And when one person refuses to acknowledge their part, that refusal is outside your control.

And while you're waiting...

You're still emotionally invested in the very situation you're trying to heal from.

You're replaying conversations, perhaps rereading old text messages.

Reconstructing arguments in your head, desperately trying to find the missing piece.

Imagining what you should have said, maybe questioning your response to their behavior for the millionth fucking time.

Waiting for an apology that may never come.

And if silence, avoidance, and a lack of accountability were recurring patterns throughout the relationship, perhaps their continued silence shouldn't be all that surprising.

As shocking as that realization may be, the pattern may have been there all along. You just kept turning a blind eye to it.

Or perhaps you're directing all that anger inward, persecuting yourself for what you didn't recognize, what you tolerated, or what you wish you'd done differently.

And somewhere along the way, you've convinced yourself that you cannot move forward until something outside of you changes.

Something you have absolutely no fucking control over.

That's one of the ways we keep ourselves stuck in what I call the victim trap.

Now, before someone gets their panties in a fucking bunch, let me clarify something.

Being victimized and remaining psychologically trapped in a victim identity are not the same thing.

You can have genuinely been betrayed, manipulated, abandoned, mistreated, or deeply hurt.

You can 100% deserve accountability, as all human beings should.

You can 100% deserve an apology, as all human beings should.

And you can absolutely, 100% deserve better than what someone gave you.

But deserving those things doesn't mean you're guaranteed to receive them.

And if your healing depends entirely on whether another person decides to acknowledge your pain, take responsibility for the damage and harm they caused, or become someone they haven't demonstrated they're willing to be, you've effectively handed them authority over your emotional future.

That's where the work begins.

And trust me, I know this all too well.

I'm sitting right in the fucking middle of it as I write this.

So the work isn't about pretending nothing happened.

Because boy, did it fucking happen.

And it hasn't been easy navigating the emotional roller coaster of recognizing what I experienced while watching someone else remain attached to their own version of events, their victim narrative, and the wounded child parts they continue allowing to take control of their adult lives.

It's also not about forcing some fake fucking sense of forgiveness when you believe the other person should be the one asking you to forgive them for everything they unnecessarily put you through.

And it sure as fuck isn't about immediately jumping into another relationship or finding someone else to distract you from the pain, simply so you can feel good about yourself while avoiding responsibility for the pain and suffering you contributed to.

Healing is about understanding the difference between what happened to you, what you continue carrying, and what you actually have the power to change.

And part of that work involves releasing your attachment to what isn't within your control.

Them. Their choices. Their accountability. Their willingness, or unwillingness, to do their own fucking work.

Because you can still 100% love someone.

You can still miss them and desperately wish they'd wake the fuck up, recognize their part, and reach out in a healthy way to offer some form of closure or a different way of moving forward.

But healing cannot remain dependent on that happening, especially when the other person has removed themselves from the relationship and continues portraying you as the villain in their story.

You can still grieve the future you believed you'd share.

And you can choose to release them at the exact same fucking time.

Understanding Your Attachment Style: Why Letting Go Feels Different for Everyone

Before we go any further, let's talk about something that can significantly influence how you experience relationships, separation, rejection, and loss.

Your attachment style.

Attachment theory helps us understand how our early relational experiences, along with relationships throughout our lives, can shape the ways we seek connection, respond to emotional uncertainty, and navigate intimacy.

There are four commonly discussed adult attachment patterns.

Secure Attachment

People with relatively secure attachment patterns generally feel comfortable with intimacy and independence. They can experience heartbreak, disappointment, and grief without necessarily interpreting the loss of a relationship as proof that they're unworthy of love.

The work: Continue practicing healthy communication, emotional regulation, boundaries, and allowing yourself to grieve without rushing the process.

Anxious Attachment

People with anxious attachment patterns may experience an intense fear of abandonment, heightened sensitivity to perceived rejection, and a powerful urge to restore connection when a relationship feels threatened.

They may repeatedly seek reassurance, explanations, or one more conversation because uncertainty feels fucking unbearable.

The work: Learn to tolerate relational uncertainty, recognize reassurance-seeking patterns, strengthen self-trust, practice emotional regulation, and stop making another person's response the deciding factor in your sense of security.

Avoidant Attachment (Dismissive-Avoidant)

People with dismissive-avoidant patterns may value independence so strongly that emotional vulnerability, dependence, or relational conflict feels threatening.

They may distance themselves, minimize their feelings, or convince themselves they're fine without fully processing the emotional impact of a relationship.

The work: Develop greater awareness of emotional distancing, practice identifying and expressing vulnerable feelings, tolerate healthy interdependence, and learn that intimacy doesn't automatically mean losing autonomy.

Fearful-Avoidant Attachment (Sometimes Called Disorganized)

People with fearful-avoidant patterns may simultaneously desire closeness and fear it.

They may experience a painful push-and-pull dynamic, wanting connection while becoming overwhelmed or distrustful when intimacy increases.

The work: Recognize the triggers behind approaching and withdrawing, develop emotional safety and consistency, strengthen boundaries, and work toward tolerating intimacy without automatically anticipating abandonment or harm.

Your Attachment Style Is Not Your Life Sentence

Here's something I want you to understand.

Your attachment style may help explain your patterns, but it doesn't excuse your behavior or determine your future.

You can have an anxious attachment pattern and learn to stop chasing someone who has repeatedly demonstrated they don't want the same relationship.

You can have avoidant tendencies and learn to remain emotionally present when intimacy becomes uncomfortable.

You can recognize fearful-avoidant patterns and begin interrupting the cycle of pulling someone close only to push them away.

And even people with secure attachment patterns can become dysregulated in relationships marked by inconsistency, betrayal, or significant emotional distress.

These patterns are not always fixed, and they can vary across relationships and circumstances.

I know this firsthand.

I recognize my own attachment style as secure, and boy, did I do the fucking work over the years to get here.

I wasn't always securely attached.

And this most recent relationship tested that security time and time again.

No matter how much kindness, unconditional love, compassion, empathy, understanding, healthy communication, or boundary-setting I brought into the relationship, I couldn't compensate for the ongoing harmful behaviors, addiction, anger, rage, and unresolved emotional wounds that continued contributing to the dysfunction.

And I continued participating in that relationship, hoping that the promises to change would finally become consistent actions.

Hoping they would finally follow through with their words and do the fucking work.

But here's something I had to confront within myself.

Being securely attached doesn't mean you can love someone into becoming emotionally healthy.

And it doesn't mean your compassion, understanding, or willingness to work through difficulties can compensate for another person's unwillingness or inability to take responsibility for their own behavior.

The goal isn't to slap another fucking label on yourself or your former partner.

It isn't about judging or persecuting them or making them the villain.

The goal is to recognize the patterns you participate in, understand where they come from, and take responsibility for changing what is within your control.

Because understanding why you became attached to someone is one thing.

Learning how to stop repeating the patterns that keep you suffering is another. 

The Closure Trap: When One More Conversation Becomes an Excuse to Keep Holding On

How many times have you told yourself:

"I just need to understand why."

"If we could have one more conversation, I could finally move on."

"I need them to acknowledge what they did."

"I need to know whether they ever really loved me."

"I just need to say one more thing."

And then you have that conversation.

Or you send that text.

Or you make that phone call.

And for a moment, perhaps you feel better.

Until another question comes up.

Another memory resurfaces.

Another contradiction starts eating away at you.

And suddenly, you're right back where you started.

Still searching for closure from the very person you're struggling to release.

Here's what I want you to consider.

Are you genuinely seeking information, or are you unconsciously seeking another opportunity for connection?

Because those are two very different things.

Sometimes the desire for closure is actually a desire for reassurance.

Sometimes it's an attempt to regain control over a situation that left you feeling powerless.

Sometimes you're hoping they'll finally understand your pain, acknowledge their responsibility, or say something that makes the entire experience feel less devastating.

And sometimes?

You're hoping that one more conversation will somehow change their mind.

That they'll finally recognize what they're losing.

That they'll realize how much you loved them.

That they'll become the person you believed they could be.

Ouch.

Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with wanting answers, accountability, or an honest conversation. Those can be meaningful parts of repairing a relationship or understanding its ending.

But when those conversations become repetitive, unproductive, or emotionally damaging, it's worth asking whether you're still pursuing clarity or simply postponing acceptance.

Why Your Mind Keeps Searching for Answers

Our minds naturally try to make sense of experiences that disrupt our expectations.

When someone's words and actions contradict each other, when a relationship ends unexpectedly, or when important questions remain unanswered, uncertainty can become incredibly difficult to tolerate.

You may find yourself replaying conversations, analyzing their behavior, searching for overlooked warning signs, or imagining what you could have done differently.

Psychologically, this can become a cycle of rumination: repeatedly revisiting the same distressing thoughts without reaching a meaningful resolution.

For someone with anxious attachment tendencies, that uncertainty may also activate a powerful urge to restore connection and seek reassurance.

And for someone whose relationship involved repeated cycles of closeness, withdrawal, conflict, and reconciliation, the hope of reconnecting can become particularly difficult to relinquish.

But repeatedly thinking about something isn't necessarily the same as processing it.

And repeatedly contacting someone isn't necessarily bringing you closer to healing.

Sometimes you're simply reopening the very wound you're trying to close.

The Difference Between Closure and Acceptance

Here's where I think many people become confused.

They believe closure means finally understanding everything that happened.

Unfortunately, that may never happen.

Knowing exactly why someone made the choices they made.

Unfortunately, that may never happen.

Getting the apology.

Unfortunately, that may never happen.

Receiving confirmation that their experience was real.

Unfortunately, that may never fucking happen!

Having every unanswered question resolved.

Hello... wake the fuck up. That may never happen either!

But what happens when the other person doesn't know how to explain their behavior?

What happens when their explanation changes?

What happens when they refuse to take accountability?

What happens when they simply don't want another conversation?

And what happens when you know them all too well?

When you've witnessed the same patterns repeatedly and recognize that they've seemingly given up, made you the bad guy in their story, and moved right back into staying busy so they don't have to feel, confront, or deal with what happened?

And here it comes again...

UN-FUCKING-FORTUNATELY, you might have better odds of winning the fucking lottery than getting them to recognize the harm they've caused and genuinely participate in repairing it.

And the fucked-up reality of it all?

You know that if they actually did the work, took responsibility, and approached you with genuine accountability, you'd be open and receptive to exploring repair and creating a completely new foundation.

One built on the very things you were desperately hoping they'd recognize were the basic fucking building blocks of a healthy relationship from the beginning.

And perhaps they know how willing you've been to repair things, too.

But knowing someone might be receptive to repair and actually being willing to participate in that repair are two very different things.

And to many people reading this, including family and friends who know the dynamics and history of my relationship, I probably sound fucking insane.

I suppose I might think the same thing if I were looking at the situation from the outside.

But I also know what I've experienced, what I've learned, and what I've come to understand through the work I've done throughout my life.

Everyone will have their opinions.

And sometimes those perspectives are worth listening to, especially when the people offering them genuinely care about your well-being.

But that doesn't mean you have to jump on someone else's train, abandon your own discernment, or pretend you don't know what you're experiencing.

You can listen to other people's concerns without surrendering your responsibility to make your own decisions.

And here's where the real question comes in.

Does that mean you're sentenced to remain emotionally attached to the situation forever?

Absolutely fucking not.

You may never understand every decision another person made.

You may never know whether their intentions matched their promises.

You may never receive the explanation you believe you deserve.

And yes, that can be incredibly painful.

But acceptance doesn't require agreement, approval, or complete understanding.

Acceptance means recognizing the reality you're facing, even when it's not the reality you wanted.

You can acknowledge that someone hurt you without needing them to admit it.

You can recognize that their behavior was inconsistent without solving every contradiction.

You can grieve the relationship you wanted without continuing to negotiate with the reality of the relationship you actually experienced.

And you can decide that another conversation is no longer necessary for you to begin healing.

How to Begin Creating Your Own Closure

If you recognize yourself in this pattern, here are a few questions worth sitting with.

1. What am I actually hoping to receive?

Is it information? An apology? Reassurance? Validation? Reconciliation? Connection? More hope?

Be fucking honest with yourself.

Sometimes what we're calling closure is actually hope that the relationship isn't really over.

2. Have I already received an answer through their behavior?

Not every answer comes through words.

Repeated patterns, broken agreements, and consistent unwillingness to participate in repair can provide meaningful information about what a relationship is capable of becoming.

That doesn't mean you know everything about someone's intentions.

It means you can make decisions based on what they've demonstrated.

3. What happens inside me when I don't receive a response?

Do you become anxious?

Angry?

Sad?

Shocked?

Disappointed?

Are you left in disbelief?

Desperate to reach out again?

Do you begin questioning your worth?

Pay attention to what the silence activates within you. That reaction may reveal an attachment wound or an emotional pattern that deserves your attention.

4. What am I avoiding by continuing to seek another conversation?

Perhaps it's the grief.

Perhaps it's the loneliness.

Perhaps it's accepting that the future you imagined may never happen.

Perhaps it's the terrifying realization that you're going to have to build a different life than the one you planned.

Perhaps it's confronting the fear that you never meant as much to that person as they meant to you.

Or perhaps you're struggling with the possibility that someone recognized your kindness, compassion, and willingness to love them and took advantage of those qualities.

Sometimes the search for closure keeps us occupied enough that we don't have to fully confront the loss.

5. What would choosing closure for myself actually look like?

Maybe it means writing the letter you never send.

Maybe it means acknowledging the questions that remain unanswered without allowing them to control your next decision.

Maybe it means establishing boundaries around contact.

Maybe it means working with a qualified professional to process betrayal, trauma, attachment injuries, or unresolved grief.

And sometimes it means making the conscious decision to stop asking someone to provide the emotional resolution they've repeatedly shown they're unable or unwilling to offer.

You can want answers and still choose not to keep chasing them.

You can love someone and recognize that continued contact is preventing you from healing.

You can recognize that they have free will and that their willingness or unwillingness to acknowledge the harm they've caused is ultimately their responsibility.

You can recognize that the love you gave and the actions you took were sincere and authentic, while also accepting that you may never know whether the same was true for them.

You can acknowledge the absence of closure without allowing that absence to dictate the rest of your life.

Because ultimately?

Closure isn't always a conversation you get to have with someone else.

Sometimes it's a decision you begin making within yourself, over and over again, until your actions finally align with the reality you're learning to accept.

Forgiveness Without an Apology: When You're Still Waiting for Someone to Make It Right

Let's talk about another place people get themselves emotionally stuck.

Forgiveness.

More specifically, the belief that you cannot forgive someone until they acknowledge what they've done, apologize, or somehow make things right.

"I'll forgive them when they admit what they did."

"They don't deserve my forgiveness."

"How am I supposed to forgive someone who doesn't even think they did anything wrong?"

"I want them to feel the pain they caused me."

Or perhaps the anger isn't directed toward them at all.

Maybe it's directed toward yourself.

"How the fuck did I not see this coming?"

"Why did I ignore the red flags?"

"Why did I keep giving them chances?"

"How could I have been so stupid?"

Sound familiar?

Here's something I want you to understand.

Forgiveness, accountability, and reconciliation are three very different things.

And confusing them can keep you emotionally attached to a situation long after you've decided you want to move forward.

Forgiveness Does Not Mean Excusing What Happened

Let's get something straight.

Forgiving someone doesn't mean their behavior was acceptable.

It doesn't mean what happened wasn't harmful.

It doesn't mean you have to trust them again.

It doesn't mean you have to reconcile, restore the relationship, or allow them back into your life.

And it certainly doesn't mean abandoning your boundaries.

You can forgive someone and still decide they no longer have access to you.

You can forgive someone while recognizing that their behavior has consequences.

You can forgive someone and still expect accountability.

And you can forgive someone while acknowledging that the relationship is no longer healthy or sustainable in the way it has been.

Forgiveness, when freely chosen, can be a process of loosening the emotional grip that resentment, bitterness, or a desire for revenge has on your life.

But I want to be very clear about something else.

You are not required to forgive someone in order to heal.

Some people find forgiveness deeply meaningful. Others heal through acceptance, grief, boundary-setting, and reclaiming their lives without ever identifying their experience as forgiveness.

And that's okay.

What matters is whether you're developing a healthier relationship with what happened rather than allowing it to dictate every part of your present.

The Persecution Trap: When Your Pain Becomes Your Prison

Now let's talk about something that may be a little harder to hear.

Sometimes, after someone hurts us, we become so consumed with what they did that we begin organizing our emotional lives around their wrongdoing.

We replay their behavior.

We rehearse the arguments.

We imagine confronting them.

We fantasize about the day they'll finally realize what they lost.

We wait for karma to come knocking on their fucking door.

And sometimes we become invested in making sure everyone else knows exactly what kind of person they are.

Now, anger is a natural response to betrayal, mistreatment, and loss.

And speaking about harmful experiences, seeking protection, pursuing appropriate accountability, or warning others about genuine danger is not inherently persecution.

But there's a difference between seeking accountability and becoming psychologically consumed with punishing another person.

When your emotional well-being becomes dependent on someone else's suffering, remorse, or punishment, you're still allowing that person to occupy an enormous amount of space in your life.

They may not even be thinking about you.

They may have moved on.

They may never acknowledge the damage they caused.

They may genuinely believe they did absolutely nothing wrong throughout the entire relationship.

And apparently, in their version of events, it was all your fucking fault!

And meanwhile?

You're still carrying them into every fucking room you enter.

Still arguing with them in your head.

Still imagining what you'd say if you had the opportunity.

Still waiting for them to become someone capable of giving you the acknowledgment you deserve.

And the uncomfortable question becomes:

At what point does your pursuit of justice turn into a pattern of repeatedly exposing yourself to the very pain you're trying to escape?

This isn't about letting people get away with harmful behavior.

It's about recognizing that you can pursue accountability without making another person's response the foundation of your emotional recovery.

Self-Persecution: When You Become the Person Who Won't Let Yourself Heal

And then there's another form of persecution that I see far too often.

The shit we do to ourselves.

Sometimes we're more willing to forgive the person who hurt us than we are to forgive ourselves for participating in the relationship.

For trusting them.

For assuming they were being honest.

For believing their promises.

For overlooking inconsistencies.

For staying longer than we wish we had.

For giving another chance.

And another.

And another.

You look back with everything you know today and start judging the person you were when you didn't have that same information.

You call yourself stupid.

Weak.

Naive.

Desperate.

A fucking idiot.

You convince yourself that you should have known better.

But here's something worth considering.

Recognizing a red flag in hindsight doesn't necessarily mean you had the same clarity, information, or emotional capacity to recognize and respond to it at the time.

Sometimes we genuinely didn't know.

Sometimes we knew something felt wrong but couldn't yet make sense of it.

Sometimes we recognized the problem but hoped things would change.

Sometimes our attachment patterns, fears, circumstances, or previous experiences influenced what we were willing to tolerate.

And sometimes?

We made choices we now deeply regret.

All of those possibilities deserve honest examination.

But there's a difference between taking responsibility for your choices and repeatedly punishing yourself for making them.

Accountability asks, "What can I learn from this?"

Self-persecution declares, "I deserve to suffer because of this."

One creates an opportunity for growth.

The other keeps you emotionally imprisoned in the past.

And let's be fucking real.

You cannot go back and make decisions with information, insight, or emotional resources you only developed afterward.

What you can do is examine the patterns that contributed to your choices and decide what you're willing to do differently moving forward.

That's where self-forgiveness becomes meaningful.

Not as a way to excuse your behavior.

But as a way to stop confusing personal responsibility with lifelong punishment.

What If They Never Apologize?

This is where the work becomes especially challenging.

Because sometimes the apology never comes.

Sometimes the other person doesn't understand the impact of their behavior.

Sometimes they understand and refuse to acknowledge it.

Sometimes their own shame, guilt, self-hatred, or deeply ingrained beliefs about themselves become barriers to taking responsibility.

Perhaps somewhere beneath their defenses is a core belief they've carried since childhood, clinging to it like a baby sucking on a fucking titty:

"I'm not good enough."

"I'm unworthy."

"I'm too broken to be loved."

And when someone carries those beliefs, acknowledging that they've hurt another person may intensify the shame they already feel about themselves.

Rather than confronting their behavior, they may become defensive, withdraw, blame someone else, or convince themselves that the relationship was doomed anyway.

But understanding where someone's behavior may come from doesn't mean excusing the harm it causes.

Sometimes they offer an apology but continue repeating the same patterns.

And sometimes they apologize sincerely, but the damage to the relationship is already too significant to repair.

And sometimes?

They decide, based on their own beliefs rather than an actual attempt at mutual repair, that too much damage has been done.

So they don't even fucking bother to apologize.

How fucked up is that?

Especially when the person they hurt might have been willing to explore repair if they had demonstrated genuine accountability and meaningful change.

But that possibility doesn't mean repair would have succeeded, and it certainly doesn't mean one person could have accomplished it alone.

An apology can be meaningful, but an apology alone does not constitute accountability.

Accountability involves recognizing the harm, accepting responsibility, and demonstrating meaningful changes in behavior.

And reconciliation, when it's appropriate and mutually desired, requires more than one person's willingness to repair.

You cannot do another person's inner work for them.

You cannot make someone develop insight.

You cannot force emotional maturity.

You cannot love someone into accountability.

And you cannot build a healthy relationship for two people while being the only one consistently participating in the work.

You can love someone deeply and still recognize that love alone cannot create the relationship you need.

That's a painful fucking reality.

But it is still reality.

How to Begin Working Through Forgiveness and Self-Persecution

If you're struggling with resentment, guilt, anger, or an inability to forgive, consider these questions.

1. What am I still waiting for?

An apology?

An admission of wrongdoing?

A change in behavior?

An opportunity to explain myself?

A chance to make them feel what I felt?

Identify what you're hoping to receive and ask yourself whether your healing has become dependent on receiving it.

2. Am I seeking accountability or emotional retaliation?

There's a difference.

One focuses on responsibility, boundaries, repair, and consequences.

The other focuses on making someone hurt because you hurt.

Ask yourself whether your actions are moving you toward healing or keeping you psychologically entangled in the conflict.

3. What am I continuing to punish myself for?

Write down the decisions you regret.

Then examine them with curiosity rather than contempt.

What did you believe at the time?

What conclusions did you make about yourself?

Perhaps:

"She can't possibly love me."

"I'm no good for her."

"How could anyone love me?"

"I'm too broken."

How did you personalize what happened?

Did you interpret another person's behavior as evidence that you weren't good enough?

That you weren't worthy of love?

That something was fundamentally wrong with you?

What were you afraid of?

Intimacy?

Unconditional love?

Authenticity?

Commitment?

Responsibility?

Or perhaps the possibility of experiencing something genuinely healthy for once, something you didn't believe you deserved?

What did you need?

What information did you actually have?

What patterns influenced your choices?

Think about your past relationships, including your earliest experiences with parents and caregivers.

What relationship patterns did you witness growing up?

How did the adults around you respond to conflict, vulnerability, affection, rejection, or emotional needs?

What did those experiences teach you about yourself and relationships?

And what do you understand today that you didn't understand then?

4. What would taking responsibility without self-persecution look like?

Perhaps it means acknowledging that you ignored your own boundaries.

Perhaps it means recognizing that you repeatedly prioritized someone else's needs over your own.

Perhaps it means learning to identify inconsistencies between words and actions.

Perhaps it means addressing an attachment pattern that makes separation feel unbearable.

Or perhaps it means recognizing that you were harmed and that the responsibility for another person's harmful choices belongs to them, not you.

5. Can I release the demand for an apology without pretending the harm never happened?

You don't have to decide today whether you forgive someone.

You don't have to manufacture compassion for someone you're still angry with.

And you don't have to minimize what happened.

But you can begin releasing the belief that your future depends on whether they eventually acknowledge your experience.

You can establish boundaries.

You can seek support.

You can grieve.

You can learn.

You can move toward a life that isn't organized around what someone else did or failed to do.

And perhaps most importantly?

You can stop making yourself pay for the same experience over and over again.

Because forgiveness, whether directed toward another person or yourself, should never become another fucking weapon you use against yourself.

And healing doesn't require you to pretend you weren't hurt.

It requires learning how to care for yourself without allowing the hurt to become the entirety of who you are.

Moving On: Why You're Still Energetically Hooked

Now let's talk about something I believe many people are deeply confused about.

Moving on.

Because ending a relationship and actually moving on from that relationship are not necessarily the same fucking thing.

You can stop speaking to someone.

Block their number.

Delete their pictures.

Remove them from social media.

Move to another city.

Start dating someone new.

And still be emotionally invested in the person you claim you've moved on from.

Interestingly, even to this day, I'm aware of former partners who still ask about me while involved in relationships with other women.

And here's the beauty of knowing your own worth: I know I'm not an easy woman to forget.

Not because I need someone to regret losing me to validate my value, but because I know the depth of love, loyalty, compassion, and authenticity I bring into a relationship.

A woman like me doesn't come along every fucking day. And for some men, the realization of what they lost seems to become a regret they carry for a lifetime.

And that's exactly what I'm talking about.

Just because you've physically moved on from someone doesn't necessarily mean you've emotionally released them.

I've witnessed this from both sides. I've been the person someone couldn't seem to fully let go of, and I've been the person struggling to release someone I deeply loved.

And that's where things get complicated.

You may no longer be physically participating in the relationship, but psychologically?

You're still in it.

You're checking their social media.

Wondering whether they're dating someone.

Hoping they'll regret losing you.

Replaying the conversations.

Imagining the reunion.

Waiting for the apology.

Comparing every new person to them.

Or perhaps you're telling everyone how much you fucking hate them, how terrible they were, and how glad you are that they're gone.

Yet somehow, they're still occupying your thoughts, influencing your emotions, and shaping the decisions you're making today.

Here's what I want you to understand.

Love isn't the only thing that can keep you attached to someone.

Anger can.

Resentment can.

Guilt can.

Shame can.

Fear can.

Hope can.

And so can the desperate need to prove that you were right and they were wrong.

Sometimes the emotional investment we maintain through hatred is just as consuming as the investment we once maintained through love.

Different emotion.

Same person.

Same preoccupation.

And sometimes, the same fucking suffering.

But I also want to make an important distinction.

Thinking about someone, missing them, or continuing to love them doesn't automatically mean you're failing to move on.

Grief doesn't disappear because you've decided a relationship is over.

Memories don't suddenly vanish.

And genuine love doesn't always transform into indifference simply because the relationship can no longer continue.

The question isn't whether you still have feelings.

The question is whether those feelings continue to dictate how you live your life.

The Difference Between Remembering Someone and Remaining Attached to an Outcome

Let's say you deeply love someone.

You imagined a future together.

You shared experiences, dreams, intimacy, and perhaps some of the most meaningful moments of your life.

And now that relationship has ended.

You can acknowledge that love.

You can appreciate what was meaningful.

You can grieve what will never be.

You can even wish that person well.

Without continuing to organize your future around the possibility that they'll come back.

That's the distinction.

Moving on doesn't require erasing someone from your memory.

It doesn't require convincing yourself that the relationship meant nothing.

And it certainly doesn't require turning someone you once loved into a fucking villain just to make leaving easier.

Sometimes two things can be true simultaneously.

You can deeply love someone and recognize that continuing the relationship is not healthy for you.

You can care about their well-being without assuming responsibility for their healing.

You can want the best for them without needing to participate in their life.

And you can release the future you imagined together without denying that you genuinely wanted it.

I know this because I'm standing in the wreckage of that reality myself.

I deeply love and care for a man who came into my life like a fucking wrecking ball.

And I'm navigating what it means to honor that love while accepting the reality of what our relationship has become.

Recently, I met up with a good friend I hadn't seen in several years.

As we talked about everything that had happened, she said something that stayed with me.

"Cathy, maybe your purpose was helping him get stable and back on his feet, and now it's time for you to do that for yourself, too."

And I thought...

What a fucking breath of fresh air to have friends who keep it real.

Not because she was telling me what I wanted to hear.

But because she offered a perspective that invited me to examine where my energy, attention, and responsibility have been directed.

Perhaps I did play an important role in his life.

Perhaps he played an important role in mine.

Perhaps we both learned things we could never have learned in quite the same way without knowing each other.

But none of those possibilities automatically means we're supposed to remain together.

Someone can have a profound purpose in your life without being your lifelong partner.

And sometimes the work is recognizing when your role in someone else's journey has changed.

Beyond Attachment Styles: Understanding the Transpersonal Perspective

Now, this is where I want to introduce another layer of understanding.

Earlier, we discussed attachment styles and how our relational experiences can influence the ways we seek connection, respond to separation, and navigate intimacy.

Those psychological patterns are important.

But in my work with transpersonal psychology, I also explore perspectives that extend beyond conventional psychological explanations.

Transpersonal psychology examines experiences involving spirituality, consciousness, meaning, identity, and dimensions of human experience that people may understand as extending beyond the individual self.

Within certain spiritual and transpersonal traditions, there are concepts involving past lives, soul agreements, pre-birth planning, destiny, and energetic connections between people.

Some people believe that relationships may involve lessons or connections established before this lifetime.

Others understand certain relationships as opportunities for profound spiritual growth, even when those relationships are painful or temporary.

These are spiritual and philosophical interpretations, not established scientific facts. Although quantum physics is sometimes invoked to explain such experiences, it has not demonstrated that past-life agreements, pre-birth planning, or interpersonal energy cords exist.

I believe it's important to make that distinction.

Because we can explore these perspectives without confusing spiritual beliefs with scientific evidence.

And whether you understand human connection through attachment theory, emotional conditioning, spiritual symbolism, or some combination of these frameworks, there is an important question worth asking.

What are you continuing to carry that no longer belongs in the life you're trying to create?

That's where I want to introduce an analogy I frequently use when teaching patients and clients about attachment and subtle-energy concepts.

The Fishing Poles: Understanding What You're Still Holding On To

Imagine you're out on a lake.

Or perhaps you're in the middle of the ocean.

You're sitting in a boat, surrounded by water.

Now imagine that you have a fishing pole for every person, place, experience, expectation, or unresolved situation that continues to occupy your emotional energy.

Every relationship you're still trying to understand.

Every person you're waiting to hear from.

Every argument you're still having in your head.

Every mistake you haven't forgiven yourself for.

Every future you imagined that didn't happen.

Every person whose approval you're still seeking.

Every resentment you refuse to release.

Every possibility you're still desperately hoping will become reality.

And imagine that each fishing line represents an energetic cord connecting you to whatever remains emotionally unresolved.

In subtle-energy traditions, these cords are sometimes understood as symbolic or spiritual connections between people and experiences.

Psychologically, we can also understand the analogy through attachment, rumination, emotional conditioning, and the ways our attention remains invested in unfinished experiences.

Now picture all those fishing poles.

One in your left hand.

Another in your right.

A few tucked under your arms.

Several balanced against your legs.

And every single fucking line has something pulling on the other end.

One represents the person who broke your heart.

Another represents the parent whose approval you never received.

Another represents the relationship you wish you'd left sooner.

Another represents the guilt you carry about something you did ten years ago.

Another represents the person you're still waiting to apologize.

And another?

The version of your life you thought you'd be living by now.

You're holding on to every fucking pole.

Trying to keep control of every fucking line.

Trying to prevent anything from getting away.

Trying to understand what's happening beneath the surface.

And then something pulls.

Hard.

So you tighten your grip.

Another line starts pulling.

You grab that one, too.

Then another.

And another.

Until you're being pulled in so many directions that you can barely maintain your balance.

What the fuck do you think is eventually going to happen?

You're going overboard.

And depending on how tightly you're holding on, you might get dragged so far away from your boat that you can't even see it anymore.

Now ask yourself something.

How are you supposed to navigate your own fucking life when both hands are occupied holding on to everything you refuse to release?

How are you supposed to steer your boat?

How are you supposed to recognize new opportunities?

How are you supposed to care for yourself?

How are you supposed to move toward the future you say you want?

You can't keep holding every fishing pole and expect to have your hands free to navigate your own journey.

And here's where this analogy becomes especially important.

Not every fishing pole represents someone you still love.

Some represent people you resent.

Some represent shame.

Some represent guilt.

Some represent expectations.

Some represent identities you've outgrown.

Some represent the need to be understood, validated, vindicated, or chosen.

And some represent the fucking fantasy that if you just hold on long enough, something will eventually change.

But holding on isn't the same as creating change.

And refusing to release something doesn't guarantee you'll ever receive what you're waiting for.

Dropping the Hooks Doesn't Mean Erasing the Love

Here's the part I really want you to understand.

You can love someone and release them at the exact same time.

You can acknowledge the significance of a relationship without continuing to pursue it.

You can forgive someone without inviting them back into your life.

You can hold hope that someday things might change without keeping yourself stuck, waiting for a different reality than the one you're currently living.

You can recognize what you contributed to a painful dynamic without assuming responsibility for someone else's behavior.

You can honor the memories without continuing to negotiate with the past.

And you can let go of an imagined future without pretending you never wanted it.

Dropping the hooks isn't about forcing yourself to stop feeling.

It isn't about denying your grief.

And it isn't about performing some spiritual ritual and expecting your attachment patterns to magically fucking disappear.

It's about becoming consciously aware of where your emotional energy is going and learning how to redirect your attention, choices, and behavior toward the life you're actually living.

For some people, symbolic cord-releasing practices, meditation, visualization, or other spiritual rituals can provide a meaningful way to mark that intention.

For others, the work may involve psychotherapy, grief processing, changing habitual behaviors, establishing boundaries, or learning to tolerate the discomfort of uncertainty.

And for many people, it involves a combination of approaches.

The important part isn't whether you can visualize cutting an energetic cord.

It's whether you're willing to stop repeatedly picking up the same fucking fishing pole.

Because you can put a pole down today and feel tempted to grab it again tomorrow.

You might check their social media.

You might want to send another message.

You might start replaying the argument.

You might find yourself imagining a future that no longer reflects the reality in front of you.

That doesn't mean you've failed.

It means you're recognizing a pattern that takes practice to change.

And every time you notice yourself reaching for that pole, you have an opportunity to make a different choice.

Not because you no longer care.

Not because the experience didn't matter.

But because your life deserves your participation, too.

The Work of Letting Go: How to Stop Picking Up the Same Fucking Fishing Poles

Now that we've explored closure, forgiveness, attachment styles, and the emotional and energetic connections we maintain, let's talk about what to actually do with this information.

Because understanding your patterns is important.

But understanding a pattern and changing that pattern are two very different things.

And let's keep it real.

If you're the person trying to move on from someone who refuses to take accountability for the harm they've caused, my advice to you may look a little different than my advice to the person who caused the harm and is reading this article.

Take what resonates with your experience.

But to the man or woman reading this who recognizes that they've hurt someone, whether through their actions, their words, their avoidance, or their unwillingness to take responsibility:

Do something about it.

If it's safe and appropriate to do so, acknowledge the harm you've caused. Take responsibility. Make meaningful changes. And when appropriate, offer an apology without expecting forgiveness or reconciliation in return.

Imagine spending years telling yourself that someday you'll apologize.

Someday you'll face that person.

Someday you'll explain.

Someday you'll finally take responsibility.

Now imagine that person is suddenly gone from this world.

And the opportunity you kept postponing no longer exists.

That day you kept promising yourself would come? It may never fucking come.

I sit with men and women in my professional work who eventually recognize the significance of those missed opportunities.

And sometimes that realization comes when it's too late to have the conversation they wish they'd had.

Don't confuse postponing accountability with protecting yourself from discomfort.

And don't assume that someone will always be there waiting when you finally decide you're ready to do the work.

And to the person reading this who is left sitting with the damage and harm, knowing deep in your heart that you've done everything within your control and power to make things work:

One more text. One more email. One more phone call.

It will NOT make a fucking difference if nothing you've tried so far has changed their willingness to take responsibility.

Not until that person reaches their own conclusions, recognizes their part, and makes the conscious decision to take accountability and make amends.

You cannot do that work for them.

So stop pouring your precious time, energy, and emotional well-being into someone whose actions continue demonstrating an unwillingness to participate in repairing what was broken.

Whether they care or not, their feelings mean very little if their actions continue causing you harm.

Now, back to what it means to actually change your patterns.

You can spend years studying attachment theory.

You can read every fucking book about relationships.

You can understand your childhood wounds, recognize your triggers, identify your defense mechanisms, and explain exactly why you respond the way you do.

And still keep repeating the same behaviors.

Why?

Because insight alone doesn't automatically change the emotional responses and habits you've spent years developing.

Awareness creates an opportunity for change. But change requires participation.

And sometimes that participation is uncomfortable as fuck.

Who am I kidding?

Sometimes?

Personal growth can be fucking uncomfortable, especially when it requires confronting the parts of yourself you've spent years avoiding.

The goal isn't to eliminate every uncomfortable feeling.

It's to develop the skills, emotional capacity, and willingness to tolerate discomfort without allowing it to dictate your behavior.

It means resisting the urge to send another message.

Especially when you've already sent what feels like a thousand emails and text messages trying to explain your pain, communicate your needs, and help someone understand the harm they continued causing.

At some point, they could probably gather all your messages and write a fucking book about everything you've tried to explain.

And yet, somehow, you're still the one being blamed and shamed for the stress and problems in their life.

It means allowing someone to misunderstand you without repeatedly trying to correct their perception.

It means accepting that someone may never apologize.

It means recognizing when you're using anger to maintain a connection you claim you want to release.

It means acknowledging your own choices without turning those choices into another reason to punish yourself.

And sometimes?

It means finally allowing yourself to grieve the future you were so fucking certain would happen.

Not because you're giving up on love.

But because you're learning the difference between loving someone and abandoning yourself while trying to hold on to them.

And in Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), this brings us to an important concept: Radical Acceptance.

Radical Acceptance means acknowledging reality as it exists in the present moment, even when that reality is painful, unfair, or completely different from what you wanted.

It doesn't mean approving of someone's behavior.

It doesn't mean agreeing with what happened.

It doesn't mean abandoning your boundaries or giving up on the possibility that circumstances could change.

It means stopping the additional suffering that comes from continually fighting against the reality of what is happening right now.

You can wish things were different.

You can hope they change someday.

But you can also recognize that hope is not evidence of change, and acceptance does not require you to stop caring.

That's where the practical work begins.

Step 1: Identify Your Fishing Poles

I want you to imagine yourself back in that boat.

Look at everything you're holding.

Every fishing pole represents something you're continuing to invest emotional energy in.

Now ask yourself:

Who or what am I still holding on to?

Maybe it's a former partner.

Maybe it's a parent who never gave you the love or validation you needed.

Maybe it's someone who betrayed you.

Maybe it's a relationship you keep hoping will return to what it once was.

Maybe it's an apology you're still waiting for.

Or perhaps it's the person you used to be.

The decisions you regret.

The opportunities you missed.

The version of your life you thought you'd have by now.

Write them down.

Not to judge yourself.

Not to criticize yourself.

But to become consciously aware of what you're carrying.

And remember, you don't have to identify every unresolved experience in your life all at once.

Start with the fishing pole that's pulling the hardest.

Step 2: Identify What's Keeping the Hook in Place

Now that you've identified what you're holding, ask yourself why you're still holding it.

Is it love?

Anger?

Resentment?

Guilt?

Shame?

Fear?

Hope?

A need for justice?

A need to be understood?

A need to prove that you were worthy of being chosen?

Or perhaps you're afraid of what letting go would mean.

Because sometimes releasing a relationship means accepting that the future you imagined isn't going to happen.

Sometimes releasing resentment means accepting that someone may never fully understand how deeply they hurt you.

And sometimes forgiving yourself means confronting the uncomfortable reality that you made choices you now wish you'd made differently.

What are you afraid will happen if you finally put that fishing pole down?

Sit with that question.

Because the answer may tell you more about your attachment than another conversation with the person on the other end of the line ever could.

Step 3: Recognize How You're Maintaining the Connection

This is where the work becomes very practical.

Ask yourself:

What am I doing that keeps this attachment active?

Are you repeatedly checking someone's social media?

Reading old messages?

Revisiting photographs?

Creating imaginary conversations?

Searching for information about their life?

Asking mutual friends about them?

Comparing every new relationship to the one you lost?

Or perhaps you're repeatedly telling the same story about what happened, not because you're processing it, but because you're trying to recreate the emotional intensity of the experience.

Now, I want to distinguish something important.

Talking about painful experiences, remembering someone, or revisiting meaningful memories isn't inherently unhealthy.

Sometimes those things are necessary parts of grieving and making sense of what happened.

But there's a difference between intentionally processing an experience and repeatedly engaging in behaviors that intensify your distress without helping you move forward.

Pay attention to what happens after you engage in those behaviors.

Do you feel more grounded?

Do you gain meaningful insight?

Do you feel more capable of participating in your life?

Or do you find yourself increasingly anxious, angry, desperate, or emotionally overwhelmed?

That information matters.

Because sometimes the behavior you're using to feel connected is the very behavior keeping you stuck.

Step 4: Understand the Attachment Pattern You're Repeating

Remember those attachment styles we discussed earlier?

This is where that information becomes useful.

If you recognize anxious attachment tendencies, perhaps your work involves learning to tolerate uncertainty without repeatedly seeking reassurance.

If you recognize dismissive-avoidant tendencies, perhaps your work involves allowing yourself to acknowledge grief rather than immediately disconnecting from your emotions.

If you recognize fearful-avoidant tendencies, perhaps your work involves understanding why you alternate between desperately wanting connection and feeling overwhelmed when someone gets close.

And if you generally experience secure attachment, perhaps your work involves grieving a meaningful loss without questioning your worth or abandoning your boundaries.

These aren't rigid categories or diagnoses.

They're patterns that can help you recognize what happens when your attachment system becomes activated.

And sometimes, those patterns are influenced by trauma, betrayal, chronic stress, or the dynamics of a particular relationship.

The point isn't to identify which attachment style makes you the problem.

The point is to understand how you participate in relationships and what you can begin doing differently.

Because you cannot change someone else's attachment patterns for them.

But you can absolutely work on your own.

Step 5: Practice Putting the Fishing Pole Down

Now comes the part that sounds simple but can feel incredibly fucking difficult.

Stop automatically responding to every emotional pull.

Notice I didn't say stop having emotions.

I didn't say stop loving someone.

I didn't say stop missing them.

And I certainly didn't say pretend you don't care.

I'm talking about recognizing the difference between experiencing an emotion and acting on the urge that accompanies it.

You can miss someone without contacting them.

You can feel angry without sending the message you've rewritten fifteen fucking times.

You can experience guilt without punishing yourself.

You can feel lonely without immediately searching for someone to fill the space.

You can remember the beautiful moments without convincing yourself that those moments erase the painful ones.

And you can want reconciliation without organizing your entire life around waiting for it.

When you notice the urge to pick up that fishing pole again, pause.

Ask yourself:

What am I feeling right now?

What am I hoping this action will give me?

Will this choice support my healing, or am I trying to escape what I'm feeling?

What could I do instead that would actually care for me in this moment?

Maybe you need to cry.

Maybe you need to journal.

Maybe you need to go for a walk.

Maybe you need to speak with someone who can hold space for you without encouraging you to avoid your emotions.

Maybe you need professional support.

Or maybe you need to sit quietly and acknowledge that this fucking hurts.

You don't have to act on every feeling in order to honor it.

And every time you respond differently to a familiar emotional trigger, you're practicing a new pattern.

Step 6: Forgive Yourself for Picking the Pole Back Up

And here's something I don't want you to overlook.

You're probably going to pick up that fishing pole again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe next week.

Maybe six months from now.

Something will remind you of that person.

A song.

A photograph.

A familiar place.

A memory.

An anniversary.

Or perhaps you'll simply wake up one morning missing the life you thought you'd have.

And suddenly, there it is.

That familiar pull.

Now what?

Are you going to beat yourself up because you thought you were further along?

Are you going to convince yourself that all your progress was meaningless?

Are you going to tell yourself you're weak because you still love someone?

Or are you going to recognize that healing isn't measured by never feeling the pull again?

Sometimes healing looks like noticing the pull sooner.

Sometimes it looks like allowing the feeling without immediately reacting.

Sometimes it looks like recovering from an emotionally difficult day without turning it into another month of suffering.

And sometimes it looks like offering yourself the compassion you so freely extend to everyone else.

Putting the pole down is a practice, not a single fucking performance.

You don't have to get it perfect.

You just have to remain willing to participate in your own healing.

Step 7: Start Steering Your Own Boat Again

Now imagine something different.

You're sitting in that boat.

The ocean is still there.

The waves haven't magically disappeared.

The memories haven't vanished.

The people you've loved still matter.

The things that happened still happened.

But your hands?

They're no longer occupied trying to control every fishing line.

You can finally reach for the steering wheel.

You can look around.

You can recognize where you are.

And you can begin deciding where you want to go.

Not because you've forgotten the people who were once part of your journey.

Not because you've stopped caring.

And not because you've convinced yourself that everything happened for some beautiful fucking reason.

Sometimes terrible things happen.

Sometimes relationships end.

Sometimes people make choices that cause profound harm.

Sometimes we make choices we regret.

And sometimes we never receive the explanations, apologies, or outcomes we desperately wanted.

But none of those experiences has to become the permanent destination of your life.

You can acknowledge what happened.

You can grieve what you lost.

You can take responsibility for your own choices.

You can establish boundaries.

You can seek accountability where appropriate.

You can forgive if and when forgiveness feels meaningful to you.

And you can begin moving forward without requiring another person to participate in that decision.

You Can Love Them and Release Them at the Exact Same Time

I want to leave you with something I'm consciously practicing in my own life right now.

You can love someone deeply and still let them go.

Years ago, I learned something from a Buddhist monk that has stayed with me ever since.

In Buddhist philosophy, there's a teaching known as anicca, or impermanence. It's the understanding that everything in life is subject to change.

People change.

Relationships change.

Circumstances change.

And sometimes, the very things we desperately want to hold on to are the things life is asking us to release.

Buddhist teachings remind us that much of our suffering comes not simply from change itself, but from our attachment to how we believe things should be.

We suffer when we try to make something permanent that was never guaranteed to remain the same.

And here's the part that has stayed with me all these years.

Loving someone and clinging to someone are not the same fucking thing.

Love can honor another person's freedom.

Clinging tries to control the outcome.

Love allows two people to choose one another.

Clinging becomes desperate to prevent someone from leaving, changing, or making choices we cannot control.

And sometimes the greatest expression of love is recognizing that you cannot force someone to remain, grow, heal, or become the person you hoped they would be.

If someone chooses to stay, let it be because they genuinely want to be there, not because you've exhausted yourself trying to convince them.

And if they choose to leave, you can honor what you shared without continuing to sacrifice your own peace trying to change their decision.

Because letting go doesn't mean the love wasn't real.

It doesn't mean the relationship didn't matter.

And it certainly doesn't mean you have to stop caring.

It means learning to love without making your peace dependent on possessing, controlling, or holding on to what was never entirely yours to control.

You can recognize the beauty of what you shared without denying the pain of what happened.

You can appreciate the role someone played in your life without believing they're entitled to remain in it forever.

You can wish someone healing without assuming responsibility for making that healing happen.

You can forgive yourself for what you didn't know.

For what you overlooked.

For the chances you gave.

For the hope you carried.

For the future you believed in.

And you can stop persecuting yourself for being human.

Because sometimes the hardest part of moving on isn't releasing the other person.

It's releasing the version of the future you were still desperately trying to make happen.

And sometimes the most profound act of love isn't holding on tighter.

It's recognizing that two people may need to continue their journeys separately.

I know how fucking painful that realization can be.

I'm living it.

I'm learning to sit with the grief, the love, the anger, the disappointment, and the uncertainty without demanding that any one of those feelings disappear before I can begin moving forward.

And I'm reminding myself of the very things I've spent years teaching others.

Closure doesn't always come from another conversation.

Forgiveness doesn't require an apology.

And moving on doesn't require you to stop loving someone.

It requires becoming willing to release your attachment to the outcome you can no longer control.

So look at your hands.

Look at everything you're still holding.

Look at the fishing poles that have been pulling you away from yourself.

And ask yourself one final question.

What might become possible in my life if I finally stopped holding on to everything I cannot control?

And perhaps an even more important question:

What could I begin changing today if I redirected all that energy toward the things I actually have the power to change?

Because you have a life to live.

A life that deserves your attention.

Your energy.

Your presence.

Your participation.

And perhaps it's time to stop waiting for someone else to determine where that life goes next.

And I promise you, like every other storm in life, this too shall pass.

Not necessarily because the other person finally understands.

Not because they apologize.

Not because they return.

And not because you suddenly stop loving them.

But because you begin choosing yourself, your healing, and your future, regardless of what they choose to do with theirs.

Drop the fucking hooks.

Get your ass back on your fucking boat.

And start steering your own fucking life.

Regulate. Integrate. Become.

Catherine Foytik

Founder, The Soma Alchemy Institute