Man, sometimes life just throws you for a loop, especially when it comes to love. You get tangled up, confused, feeling like you’re constantly running on a hamster wheel. That was me, not too long ago, with my person, Alex. We loved each other, no doubt, but it felt like we were just… stuck. Everything was a battle, a small disagreement would blow up, and I was perpetually exhausted, just drained. My head was a mess, always replaying conversations, analyzing every little thing he said or didn’t say. Sleep? Forget about it. My brain just wouldn’t shut off.
One particularly rough evening, after another stupid squabble that left me feeling completely hollowed out, I just hit my limit. I remember sitting there, staring at the wall, feeling utterly helpless. I needed something, anything, to just give me a hint, a direction. I got up, walked over to my little corner where I keep my Tarot deck. I wasn’t even thinking about specific questions, just shuffled the cards, over and over, with this desperate energy building up inside me. I cut the deck, drew a single card, and there it was, staring back at me: The Four of Swords.
My heart kind of sunk, you know? My immediate, gut reaction was, “Oh great, here we go. It’s telling me to just give up, isn’t it? To walk away, to break up.” A wave of panic just washed over me. But then, as I stared at the image – that person lying down, seemingly alone, with swords above them but not piercing, just… resting. It wasn’t about an ending. It was about a pause. A deep breath. A recovery. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t about abandoning the relationship, but about resting from the intense emotional and mental labor I was putting into it. Resting from the incessant analysis, the constant overthinking that was eating me alive.
My Practice: Leaning Into The Pause
I decided, right then and there, that I would lean into what that card was telling me. Not a break-up, but a literal break. A time-out for my brain. A period of rest. This wasn’t some easy decision, believe me. It felt unnatural, like I was ignoring the problem. But the card was so clear. Rest. So, I started my “practice,” my record of trying to implement that quiet wisdom.
- Physical Space: The next morning, I talked to Alex. I told him, as calmly as I could, that I wasn’t mad, that I still cared about him deeply, but that I desperately needed a few days to myself. Not a relationship break, but a mental health break. I needed to clear my head, alone. He was confused, naturally, but he saw how worn out I was. My sister lives a couple of towns over, so I packed a small bag and headed there for a long weekend.
- Mental Space: This was the hardest part. My phone. That damn thing was my constant tether to the drama. I literally put it in a drawer and told my sister to hide it if I started to get antsy. I forced myself to stop checking for his messages, for any news. Every time my mind started to race back to our arguments, to “what ifs,” I’d stop. I’d physically get up, go for a walk, read a trashy novel, watch some mindless TV. I’d tell myself, out loud sometimes, “Nope. Not now. This is a rest period.” It was like wrestling an octopus in my head.
- Emotional Space: I made a conscious effort to stop trying to “fix” anything. Not Alex, not us, not myself. I just focused on simple, basic comforts. Hot tea, warm baths, a good night’s sleep – the first in what felt like forever. I let myself just be. No self-help books, no deep introspection about our issues. Just quiet. It felt incredibly selfish at first, like I was abandoning my duties. But slowly, a tiny bit of peace started to settle in.
The Slow Journey to Clarity
The first day at my sister’s was a nightmare. I was anxious as hell, felt guilty, thought Alex was probably thinking the worst. My mind kept pulling me back to every single grievance, every tiny insecurity. But I stuck to my guns, forced myself to read a completely dumb fantasy novel, anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
By day two, things started to shift. The constant internal chatter, the buzzing anxiety, started to quiet down. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot, but it was softer. I noticed how much energy I’d been pouring into worrying, into overthinking, into trying to control things I couldn’t. It was utterly exhausting, and I hadn’t even realized the extent of it until I stopped.
By day three, something clicked. A strange, serene kind of peace washed over me. It wasn’t about “fixing” the relationship with Alex from afar. It was about fixing me. Getting my own head straight first. I started to see our issues with a clearer lens, not through the fog of my own emotional exhaustion. Our arguments weren’t necessarily about a lack of love, but about us both being tired, stressed, and consequently, overreacting to almost everything.
When I finally went back home, I felt like a different person. Calmer, less frantic, more grounded. We talked, Alex and I. But this time, it wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t an accusation. It was a real conversation. I explained how overwhelmed I’d been, and how I realized I needed to take better care of my own peace, my own mental space, before I could truly be present in our relationship.
He admitted he’d been feeling the pressure too, though in a different way. That Four of Swords, man, it wasn’t about ending things. It was about hitting the pause button to actually save my sanity, and maybe even salvage the relationship. It taught me that sometimes, the most proactive, powerful thing you can do when everything feels chaotic is absolutely nothing – just rest, regroup, and let your mind settle. Now, when things get too much, I remember that time, and I know it’s okay to pull back, take my space, and let things breathe. It taught me to trust the quiet, to trust the pause. And it truly, truly worked for me.
