Ghosts and growth

Why Every Ghost from My Past Is Showing Up While I’m Just Trying to Move

When your house move becomes a soul purge.

I’ve already written about the emotional undercurrent — the fear, the fatigue, the strange stillness that shows up even when I’m manifesting the very thing I’ve asked for.

(That piece lives here, if you want to feel seen in your softness: When Manifestation Feels Heavy: A Love Letter to the Weary Ones.)

But this? This is what happens after.

When the paperwork pauses, the tarot turns, and the ghosts come knocking. Not to haunt me. But to witness.

Because it turns out, I’m not just moving house.

I’m moving timelines.

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At first it’s subtle. A memory here. A song there. Old energy resurfacing like background static — familiar, but no longer necessary.

Then a familiar voice — tender, honest, quietly carrying something of its own — meets me on the phone.

And I realise: The house isn’t the only thing asking for confirmation.

I’m being asked: Am I still available for the version of me they knew?

Because this house? It holds me. Every breakdown, every breathwork session, every storm. I become here.

I learn how to walk again here — spiritually and sometimes quite literally. MS enters my life in this space, too. I learn how to rest in ways that weren’t taught. How to listen to my body without resenting it. How to honour my nervous system when it says “not today,” even when the world keeps shouting “hustle.”

Some days the walls bear witness to pain so quiet it almost disappears — until it doesn’t. Other days, they hold joy so gentle I can barely breathe for the gratitude of it.

And yesterday, I find myself quietly thanking this house for holding me through all of it.

Which, now that I think of it, is probably the softest way I’ve ever thanked myself.

No ceremony. No incense. Just one whispered sentence to the walls:

> “Thank you for holding her.”

Her. The woman I am. The one who survives the awakening. The one who crawls toward sovereignty. The one I no longer need to carry.

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And of course the ghosts show up. They always do when I’m leaving the version of myself some of them were attached to.

They don’t all show up to pull me back. Some show up simply to witness — not to hold me back, but to stand quietly at the threshold as I take the next step forward.

This time, I don’t hesitate.

I hold my frequency. Even when the delay comes. Even when the council stalls. Even when the house — the one that feels so aligned — suddenly looks uncertain.

Because I’ve learned now: Not everything that pauses is broken. And not every silence means it’s fallen through.

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The tarot tells the story better than I can:

The Tower

The Hanged Man

Lovers reversed

Page of Cups reversed

Two of Cups, inverted and aching

Four of Cups

Temperance reversed

The Wheel of Fortune, spun sideways

It isn’t a no.

It’s a recalibration.

Not punishment. Not failure. Just divine timing realigning in real-time.

Just enough disruption to ask:

> “Are you sure you want to bring your ghosts with you?”

The ghosts of who I was before the diagnosis. Before the healing. Before the recalibration. Before I finally realised that being aligned doesn’t mean I’m never tired — it means I trust myself even when I am.

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I think I’m just moving house. Turns out, I’m being given the chance to leave the past behind energetically before I do it physically.

And right now, I’m holding the frequency steady. I’m not begging the future to arrive faster. I’m not performing joy to stay worthy of peace.

I’m standing in the doorway with my soul intact — even if the keys haven’t been handed over yet.

I’m not getting dragged back into old stories. I’m letting them pass through — not as invitations, but as echoes.

Not to stay. Just to be acknowledged. Just to be released.

Because this time — I’m not just moving.

I’m arriving.

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And if I’m honest, I’m still in it. Still waiting for the call. Still checking my phone more than I’d like to admit. Still walking around half-packed and emotionally braced.

But I’m not walking it alone. There’s presence here — learning, growing, holding its own version of this shift. Spirit is here — whispering through cards, dreams, and every oddly timed delay.

And me? I’m here too. Fully.

Maybe this isn’t the end of the story. Maybe it’s the pause before the arrival. But either way…

I’m home in myself now.

And that’s something no delay can take from me.