I’ve been messing around with the cards for a while now, not like some expert, just trying to figure stuff out for myself. This whole ‘Devil Reversed’ thing? Man, it hit hard. It’s not about some spooky monster or evil magic; it’s about realizing you’re the one holding the damn keys to your own handcuffs. That was the whole basis of this latest practical exercise.
The Chains I Forged Myself
For me, the ‘upright Devil’ wasn’t a person or a terrible habit. It was a career. A stupidly high-paying gig in corporate finance that everyone told me was the absolute definition of “success.” Five years I spent there. Five years of waking up sick to my stomach, staring at a monitor, and chasing numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me outside of a paycheck. I thought I needed the money, the title, the fancy apartment. I kept telling myself, “Just another year, and then I’ll be set.”
That is the Devil talking, right? It tells you that outside stuff—material crap, status, what other people think—is what makes you whole. And I bought it hook, line, and sinker. I got everything they said I should want. Big house, a car that cost way too much, the whole checklist. But every single Friday, I’d look in the mirror and just see this tired, miserable guy who hadn’t actually created anything meaningful in years. Just pushing paper and trying to sound smart in meetings. I felt like a complete damn puppet. The gold chain wasn’t a reward; it was a leash, and I had buckled it on myself.
The Messy Process of Release
The ‘practice’ started when I finally hit a wall one Tuesday afternoon. I saw the inverted Devil card in an old spread I’d done, and the one word that stuck was Independence. I decided right then I was going to test how real my ‘bondage’ was. I had to physically start removing the ties.
- I started by pulling back, hard. I literally hauled all my expensive suits, my ties, my designer shoes, and dumped them into the back of my truck to take to charity. Felt physically lighter, which was weird, like shedding a skin.
- I stopped checking email after 5 PM and on weekends. They hated it. My boss called me three times one Saturday. I ignored him. Just… didn’t pick up. That immediate, crushing panic I felt in my chest when the phone rang? That was the chain rattling. That was the addiction to being ‘needed.’
- I dug up an old, forgotten hobby. I used to mess around with rebuilding vintage motorcycles years ago. I forced myself to spend two hours every night just wrenching and getting covered in grease. That was my ‘soul work.’ Soon, the corporate job felt like the disposable hobby, and the hobby felt like the real job.
The turning point wasn’t some grand, dramatic moment like in the movies. It was slow. It was me finally looking at the Devil card one evening, seeing it reversed, and realizing the chains weren’t locked. They were just looped around my wrist. They didn’t have a padlock. I could just… slip them off. That sounds stupidly simple, but you have no idea how hard it is to quit something that everyone else in your life keeps telling you is absolutely perfect.
The Final Break and the Aftermath
I finally walked away. Just handed in my badge and walked out after giving my two weeks. They offered me more money, a better title, guaranteed stock options. Told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. All the usual crap. I remember the HR guy calling me a week after I left, totally confused, asking if I wanted my severance package details expedited.
I just told him, “Keep it. I already got my freedom package.”
You want to know why I know so damn much about this kind of self-imposed prison? Because when I finally broke free, things got financially messy, fast. I moved out of that fancy apartment, crashed on my sister’s pull-out sofa for a few months while I sorted things out. She was great, but her husband was constantly shooting me these looks. Like I was some pathetic failure for ditching a six-figure salary to, get this, fix old motorcycles for cash.
I had basically zero consistent income for about four long months. My credit score took a massive beating. The bills piled up, and every time I went to the grocery store, I was calculating everything. That whole life I’d built? Poof. Gone. I had to sell almost everything I bought with that toxic ‘devil money.’ I was eating instant noodles and driving a beat-up jalopy again.
But the crazy, ridiculous thing is that I was genuinely, deeply happy. That experience, that whole struggle, was my practical ‘Devil Reversed’ masterclass. It wasn’t about finding some airy-fairy enlightened answer; it was about the brutal, messy, day-to-day fight to take control of my actual needs versus what society and that toxic career told me they should be.
I started consulting for small mechanics and custom shops, nothing major, just enough to pay for rent and instant ramen. I’m telling you, that little bit of control, that tiny scrap of making a choice based on my own damn soul and my passion, was worth a thousand of those golden handcuffs. It’s about understanding the trap first, then just… making the conscious choice to walk out. Don’t wait for a sign, don’t wait for the magic. You just unhook your own chains and deal with the mess. That’s the entire drill.
