How Romantic Loss Has Fueled Every Creative Leap in My Life

Using Heartbreak as a Catalyst for Creative Destiny

"Matters of the heart are a continuous challenge for you."

This was my astrologer’s prognosis back in January.

I wasn't ready to hear it, and I definitely wasn't ready to accept it. But here I am, six months later, spiraling through the grief of dreams that never got off the ground.

In this week’s stream of consciousness, I’m exploring my love life through a new lens and fresh tears. Will I find acceptance by the end of the post?

Your guess is as good as mine.

The Pattern I Can’t Unsee

Here’s what I’ve discovered.

Every intense infatuation I’ve ever had has been less about the person and more about the professional or creative quantum leap that came after. The pattern is shockingly consistent.

I’ve always wanted a soulmate—someone who’s loving, peaceful, and doesn’t bore me to tears.

But it's not happening smoothly.

What I’ve gotten instead are beautiful disasters—the majority of which have been doomed from the start. These catastrophes continued long after I was wise enough, and healed enough, to bear witness to their unfolding.

"This is objectively a mess and I deserve better," something in me could see with crystal clarity. "But I still feel all this love. Why?"

Each time, the crash of disappointment hurt like hell.

And each time, like clockwork, it set something else in motion. Pain would transmute into creative energy and drive to do something bold.

Thanks to the shockwaves of my past loves, I learned how to write, built a business, quit my job, moved cities, and started building a better business—in that order.

None of the major milestones in my creative-professional life were ignited while I was in a state of peace and contentment. Every creative milestone followed the breakdown of a romance that meant too much.

And in almost every case, that person was a preview of the next phase of my work. I don’t know if that’s called a “muse” or a “cosmic prank.”

All I know is that it just keeps happening.

Even The Friendships Were Foreshadowing

I once wrote a letter listing every friend who’d faded or been pulled away by the tides of time. It was well over a dozen names long and read like a eulogy for a social life I never quite got to keep.

The ones that stung the most? They were the ones tied to the themes I’d later build my life around.

The sweet Christian friend who showed me what spiritual integrity looked like. The friend I made silly videos with before anyone called it “content.” And when those friendships ended, the grief felt disproportionate.

But now I get it.

Apparently, my path has always been paved with premature goodbyes—each one hitting harder the more that person reflected a version of me I hadn’t yet grown into.

The Elephant-Sized Pattern In The Room

I’m honestly embarrassed I didn’t spot this life trend sooner.

• Three people is a pattern. I’m sitting on nearly ten.

• Almost everyone I’ve dated has said they felt second to my work.

• I resent this entire realization, which probably means it’s true.

• And my astrologer warned me about all of this.

This astrologer spent years living in an ashram and used a large, complicated system of cards that he designed himself, combining two Vedic systems into one.

So, not your casual pop-astrology reader.

When I re-listened to our session recently, two things stuck out to me.

First, he successfully predicted things that weren't even possibilities in my brain at the time I got the reading.

Second, I can now hear how much he struggled to find something promising to say about my love life. There's no way I was ready to accept that struggle before.

But on this second listen? The wincing was audible.

He said it flat out: I’d probably only find love through work. Specifically, with people doing the kind of work I want to be doing next, which is exactly what’s already been happening:

• I dated a writer. I became a writer.

• I crushed on a guy who made coaching tools. I started making coaching tools.

• I dated a traveling content creator. I became a traveling content creator.

Can it get any more transparently orchestrated than that? What the actual hell is going on here?

Sometimes recognition of a pattern ends the pattern. But judging by my astrologer's wincing prognosis, I suspect I'm dealing with some soul-coded nonsense that may not dissolve under the strength of this newfound awareness.

Somehow, I must surrender to this.

The Muse Theory

I'm trying to accept that my love life may be less of a "life" and more of a sequence of incoming and outgoing muses, accompanied by inevitable pain.

Do I want that? Absolutely not.

Do I need it?

If what I believe about my soul’s curriculum is true, then I definitely needed every painful iteration so far. I was too comfortable, not aiming high enough, and needed the emotional kick to spark my imagination.

Nothing else would have roused me from my comfort.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe that’s what it looks like to live in devotion to creativity. Maybe muses don’t stick around. Maybe inspiration requires loss, and some of us get assigned that shitty contract.

Spirituality often confuses us into thinking there's something fundamentally wrong with "going without,” but there isn't, even if that absence leads to a yearning for what's been foregone.

Final Thoughts

I don’t have a tidy bow to wrap around all this. But I’ll leave you with this—the new belief I’m experimenting with holding:

Love isn’t wasted if it moves you.

Even if it breaks. Even if it ends. Even if it was never really yours to begin with.

If it shaped you, stretched you, or shoved you closer to your path, then it served its purpose.

And that’s not nothing.

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Thanks for letting me ugly-cry onto the page. If you cried while reading this, consider subscribing to The Aussie Mystic—because misery loves a spiritually informed audience.