Experiencer

Grief and Gifts Through Time

I am not sure about most things, but my experience has proven to me that we are our own guardian angels, guiding ourselves through the spiral of time. Hear me out.

It was in 2020, about a year before I was asked the question that would change my life. I was in the midst of complex grief after a sudden breakup with a boyfriend. Don’t feel too sorry for me. I willingly ignored the copious amounts of red flags that my good friend called his “pupu platter of cluster B personality disorders.” I blame it on my brain being flooded with oxytocin, or whatever chemicals make you not think straight when falling into love or lust. I digress.

Both the lead-up and aftermath of this breakup seemed like gifts from my future self, carrying healing waves that flowed through time.

The Meditation That Opened a Door

Earlier that winter, I was doing a Tara Brach meditation in which she asked us to imagine someone who loved us deeply and unconditionally. I instantly flashed to an image I hadn’t thought of in decades.

It was a crystal clear image I had visualized in 2000 during a collective remote viewing exercise led by Stephan Schwartz at an Institute of Noetic Sciences weekend workshop. There were a few hundred of us, and he asked if we would be part of an experiment he was conducting with groups, imagining the world fifty years in the future.

Instantly, and as clear as day, an image came to mind: someone I supposed was me, dressed in a simple flowing muslin wrap, gathered at a watering hole with like-minded people after a catastrophe had wiped out much of the population. As I’ve mentioned, I was raised New Age and pretty much anti-Catholic, so this biblical image came as a bit of a surprise. My future self had serious Mary vibes. And although I was raised anti-Catholic, the goddess-worshipper in me has always adored the Marys, even though I hadn’t fully awakened to that yet.

In the 2020 meditation, this woman, who I hadn’t thought of in decades, was right there with me. She was soothing me, showing she understood the sweetness of my relationship in its tender moments, even if no one else did. She was me, letting me know that my days in this relationship were numbered, and to treasure the tenderness while it lasted. I cried my eyes out. The tenderness, knowingness, and love emanating from her presence were palpable.

I didn’t share this with anyone because I knew it would make me sound crazy.

The Song That Brought Childhood Memories

A few months later, I had just begun my deep dive into tarot. I was at my boyfriend’s place, enjoying a loving afternoon, when a song popped up on Spotify. I call this Spotify magic, the way songs appear at exactly the right moment as if time itself is arranging them. This one instantly brought me to tears. It wasn’t just a little tear drop, it was a fountain that I let pour forth.

At the time, I had no idea why. The song was from my childhood, “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore” by Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond. In that instant, it felt like the little girl I had once been was reaching out through time, touching the present me with memory and longing, and I could not help but feel her sorrow and sweetness wash through me. I remembered listening to that record when I was about seven years old, resonating deeply with the emotion in the song.

A few days later, I shared this surprising emotional moment with one of my oldest best friends, admitting that I didn’t even understand how I had felt the emotion in the song as a young child. How did I understand the complexity? Without missing a beat, she gently offered that perhaps my dad leaving our family at a young age helped me understand the feelings.

This simple truth floored me.

I had long avoided acknowledging any grief from this abandonment. I had never even thought of myself as abandoned. Instead, I buckled up and became fiercely independent, refusing to grieve in order to protect myself. I honestly didn’t want to admit that my father even had the power to hurt me, but this false bravado was clearly a sham.

I had been teased about having “daddy issues” in my twenties—back when I had a thing for 50-year-old Rastas, but I never explored what that really meant.

Now I could see the little girl inside me, the one left behind, carrying all of this silently for years. In that moment, it felt as though time folded back on itself. I reached across the years and held her, naming her pain, offering the love and protection I had longed for. It was a small act, yet it was enough to step into being my own guardian, my own angel.

The Breakup That Sparked Awakening

I didn’t tell my boyfriend any of this, although he held me through my emotional response to the song. Within a week or two, the dark lord, as I affectionately call this ex now, broke up with me with zero warning. Zip. Zero.

He was done. No contact. It felt like an unexpected violent death. Looking back, I can see that this ending was a gift from my future self, a gentle nudge across time that allowed me to confront old wounds and step into a deeper understanding of myself.

In the days that followed, I spent time in my backyard, which had already become a magical space. There, as clear as day, I saw the four-year-old girl my father had left behind. She was beautiful, magical, and scrappy, full of Punky Brewster vibes and enormous fairy magic.

I loved her with all my heart, my magical child, and in loving her I felt the thread between her and me strengthen, a bridge across time.

I thought of my father missing the chance to witness her sparkle, her giggles, her dancing, and her magic. Four is the most magical age. How could he walk away? Was he dead inside? I also felt my mother’s rage at being left with all the responsibility, her own grief hidden as she tried to protect me and my brother from ours. I felt it all, zooming out and seeing the larger picture of each character’s arc.

healing through time

I wrapped that little girl in all my love and protection, promising that I would always see her, love her, and protect her. I did this for days. And now, years.

As I poured love into her, I felt it echo back into me in the present, softening and mending parts of myself I had not even realized were wounded.

It felt as if the care I was giving her now was also traveling backward, carrying my past self forward in protection.

I see you. I choose you. I will protect you. You are precious and deserve to be cherished.

This heartbreak had brought me back to her, giving me the chance to love, protect, and heal her, and in doing so, to heal myself.

I realized that I had always been there, even as a little girl, standing guard over myself. No one else in the world could understand what she needed like I did. I could be the love and the strength she had always longed for.

In that moment, it felt as though time itself had folded, and I was both the child and the guardian, the past and the present entwined. I honestly felt as though I had become my own angel. I have heard others make this same discovery.

We are our own angels.

Now, when I look back, it’s almost as if we made a pact:

I protect and cherish her and she gifts me with her wild imagination. Not a bad deal.

This truth opened the door for me, preparing me to face a few more monsters that had been hiding under my bed.