The Soul's Invisible Patterns
Three Questions to Reveal and Release the Patterns That Hold Your Spiritual Abundance Back
The air outside has that peculiar stillness today, the kind that invites you to lean in and listen, doesn't it?
I've been thinking about the quiet hum of old patterns that sometimes follow us like shadows, even when we think we’ve left them far behind.
It's a subtle thing, this hum, but it can dictate the rhythm of our lives without us ever truly understanding its source.
(If you want to jump to the 3 questions to help you reveal and release your patterns right away, scroll down to the end).
The Echo of Empty Rooms
It began, as these things often do, with a peculiar feeling of emptiness.
Not a sharp ache, but more like the hollow space left in a coffee cup after the last drop has been savoured, a subtle, almost imperceptible void that seemed to echo from deep inside.
This wasn't some sudden revelation; it was a slow, persistent whisper that had been with me, it seemed, since the days when the world felt impossibly large and my own footsteps impossibly small.
My parents, bless their hearts, were like ships sailing on their own currents, leaving a sprawling family of eight to find their own anchors.
There was no malice in it, no deliberate coldness, just an absence, a space where focused attention might have been, replaced instead by the gentle hum of daily survival. I was often left in the care of relatives whose faces blurred, or with distant caregivers, until finally, the quiet solitude of a hostel room became my default setting while my siblings shared stories and laughter back home.
It was in these quiet corners, I now realize, that the first seeds of a particular narrative were sown within me.
Later, when marriage arrived, it felt less like a joining and more like another gentle push out into the vast, unknown sea. My family, detached from the new landscape, simply handed me off to strangers, and once again, I found myself adrift in an unfamiliar current, navigating uncharted waters alone.
As the years wore on, that current grew colder, more turbulent, until, in the quiet solitude of my fourth decade, the bitterness of a fractured relationship left me truly isolated once more.
It was then, in that profound stillness, that the pattern, like a faint melody played repeatedly, finally became undeniable.
A cold dread would settle over me, the fear of being utterly on my own. This fear of aloneness, the terror of not being able to manage life's simple demands, made me contort myself into a pleasing shape for everyone.
I gave and gave, my time, my energy, every spare coin, every ounce of attention, pouring it into friendships and relationships, hoping to build a fortress against that creeping solitude. But people, it seemed, took it all as their due, consuming what I offered and then simply drifting away, leaving behind a profound sense of bewilderment.
It was spiritually exhausting, this constant pouring out, and my body, being a wise, albeit sometimes blunt, messenger, began to whisper its protests in the form of angry, persistent eczema.
My skin itself became a map of the internal struggle, red and irritated.
Unearthing the Soul's Whispers
It was then, with my physical self literally screaming for attention, that I knew I had to turn inward, to find a different kind of sustenance.
Through the quiet discipline of spiritual training, the gentle rhythm of prayer, and the deep stillness of meditation, I began to carve out time, just for myself, away from the clamour of external demands.
In those sacred moments, sitting with closed eyes, a strange, almost cinematic reel began to play: every instance of abandonment, every sting of rejection, each scenario surfacing from the deep, like bubbles rising to the surface of a still pond.
I didn't question why me, no; instead, a softer, more potent question arose.
"It's okay, my lovely Ayesha," I whispered to myself, a quiet, reassuring mantra.
What is this friendship teaching me?
This relationship?
Where is this path truly leading?
Is it leading me towards my inherent power, or is it merely replaying an old script of shame and inadequacy?
Is it whispering guilt into my ear, telling me I haven't done enough to keep things afloat, or is it instead, with a loving understanding, gently reminding me,
"Ayesha, you are doing your very best. You don't need to struggle endlessly, trying to hold onto every single connection. Let go. Let go even more, and simply observe who remains. Perhaps those who leave now were always meant to depart."
The letting go became a gentle, yet firm, refusal to struggle.
You see, my friend, the people around you, the voices whispering doubt, they do not define you.
Your soul journeyed here carrying specific fears and insecurities, and the profound encounters with parents, work, and partners were simply divine catalysts, designed to awaken those patterns for your deepest transformation.
"Ayesha," the inner voice murmured, steady and clear, "you are not what they tell you. You are a powerful light being, on a singular pilgrimage to this earth, and your deepest purpose is not people-pleasing."
Your purpose is to become more like the Creator, to cultivate unwavering certainty in your Creator, and, by extension, in yourself.
Your true task is to reclaim the power of your own life, the power you’ve perhaps unknowingly handed over to family, to partners, to societal norms, to cultural expectations.
Any ripple of fear, I knew instinctively, was not from the Source.
Spotting & Starving Your Patterns
The spiritual world, my friend, is infinitely more real than the fleeting, tangible one we navigate with our physical senses.
Everything, truly everything, begins first at the level of the soul, a shimmering blueprint unseen, yet undeniably present. This physical world, in its solid, tangible form, is merely the mold, shaping itself to the invisible forces the spiritual realm breathes into existence.
Your thoughts, your actions, your very words, hum with an immense energy you might not even perceive.
How to Identify Your Own Patterns: Quiet Questions
To begin seeing these patterns, these almost invisible threads, ask yourself these quiet questions:
When do I feel that familiar knot in my stomach, or that peculiar lightness in my chest?
What specific situations or interactions consistently trigger strong, recurring emotions within me? Your body often registers these patterns long before your mind articulates them. Pay attention to the subtle physical sensations accompanying these emotional spikes – that tightening in your jaw, the sudden chill, or the unexpected warmth. These are often the quiet markers of a familiar, underlying pattern at play.
What's the recurring 'story' I tell myself, or that seems to play out in my life, particularly in relationships or challenging circumstances?
Consider the narratives that repeat:
"I always get left alone,"
"I'm always the one who has to fix things,"
"No matter how hard I try, I'm never enough."
These are the scripts of your repeating patterns.
Look at the common themes across different relationships – family, friends, partners, colleagues.
Do you consistently feel unheard, taken for granted, or perhaps, always responsible for everyone else's happiness?
The common thread through these varied experiences often reveals a core pattern.
If I were to look at my life from a gentle distance, like watching a film, what's the one scene or outcome that keeps replaying, no matter how much I try to change the script?
Imagine yourself as an observer, not a participant, in your own life's journey.
Are there specific situations or endings that, despite your best intentions, seem to loop back around?
Perhaps it's always ending up in similar financial predicaments, or finding yourself in the same type of unfulfilling job, or experiencing the same kind of relational disappointment.
That recurring destination often points directly to a deeply ingrained, perhaps unconscious, pattern guiding your course.
These questions can feel a bit like shining a flashlight into a dusty corner, but what you find there, though perhaps a little unsettling at first, holds the key to real transformation.
Everyday Triggers: Spotting the Echoes
Sometimes, it’s just a casual comment from a parent that feels like a tiny, precisely aimed arrow.
That seemingly innocuous question about your life choices, perhaps your career path or how you're raising your own children, can suddenly stir up a deep, ancient fear. It's the old record scratch of
"Am I good enough?
Am I approved of?"
playing loud and clear, echoing the quiet longings of your childhood self.
This fear whispers where your soul still seeks validation from outside its own true knowing.
Or perhaps it's the professional arena where those deep-seated anxieties choose to dance their most awkward steps.
A curt email from a superior, a dismissive glance from a colleague in a meeting, or the sting of being overlooked for a project you felt you deserved. Suddenly, the old fear of inadequacy, of being exposed as not capable enough, rises like a cold mist from within, making your palms subtly damp.
The workplace often becomes a vivid stage for your soul's deepest performance review.
And then there's the intimate dance with a partner, where the softest touch can reveal the sharpest edges of our fears, almost without warning.
They might simply arrive home late, or forget a small detail you mentioned, or perhaps just ask for a little space to themselves, and suddenly, a wave of profound fear washes over you:
The terror of abandonment,
The ache of rejection,
The desperate need for control.
It feels as though the ground beneath your feet has subtly, almost imperceptibly, shifted.
Your beloved often holds up the most precise mirror to your soul's unhealed longing for secure connection.
How to Starve Your Patterns: Three Quiet Steps
Spirituality isn't about perpetual struggle, nor is it about backbreaking effort; it's about the quiet, profound understanding of these very spiritual laws that invisibly govern our physical lives.
The moment you begin to learn them, truly absorb them, and then, with intention, apply them to the intricate tapestry of your own existence, that's when the real transformation begins to unfurl.
It's a gentle, unfolding process, like a flower turning its face to the sun, finding its true north not through force, but through alignment.
Here are three ways to gently, yet firmly, starve those old patterns:
1. The Pause, a Moment Before the Familiar Echo.
When that old, familiar impulse begins to stir, that almost automatic urge to react in the way you always have, simply stop.
Don't move. Notice the subtle hum in the room, the scent of the air, the way your breath feels in your lungs—anything but the urgency of the old response.
This tiny space, this deliberate non-action, is your first quiet rebellion against the pattern.
It's like hitting a gentle brake just before the car takes the usual turn.
2. Refuse to Pick Up the Old Script.
The pattern thrives on your participation, much like a play that needs its actors to come to life.
Once you've paused, consciously choose not to say your accustomed lines, not to play your familiar role.
Let the silence hang there, let the expectation of the old reaction go unmet, watching it like a curious stranger observes a curious cloud. It feels awkward at first, perhaps even a little rude, to the pattern itself.
The old story, without your voice, begins to whisper rather than shout.
3. Gently Nurture the New, Even in Its Fragility.
After withholding the old, a void might appear, a space where the pattern used to reside, like the ghost of an old armchair that once sat in a room.
In this new space, however small, consciously plant a new seed: what would an empowered response look like?
What would a self-loving action feel like?
Even if it's just a whisper of a thought, a tentative step in a different direction, offer it your quiet attention and a drop of your energy.
This small, new thing, this fragile sprout, is what you choose to feed instead.
A Quiet Invitation
You are a powerful light being on pilgrimage to earth.
Your purpose is to become like the Creator.
Your purpose is to create certainty in your Creator and yourself.
Your purpose is not people-pleasing.
Your purpose is to take power of your life.
The moments you felt doubt or fear, you knew it was not from the Creator. And you chose not to listen to inner or external fears. You are a powerful being and you have handed over your power to your family, husband, society, or culture.
People come in beautiful forms to take from you; a raven disguised as a swan, as Shakespeare says.
So, my friend, perhaps the greatest act of love we can offer ourselves is to gently observe these old echoes, refuse to feed them, and instead, cultivate the new whispers of our authentic soul.
It's a process, not a sudden revelation, like watching a forgotten garden slowly reclaim its beauty, one quiet plant at a time.
This is so good