I went to see a psychic the same way some people take up running after a breakup, with optimism, mild shame, and a secret hope that someone—anyone—would tell me this pain had a timeline.
The room smelled of incense and damp certainty. There were velvet cushions. There was a woman with very kind eyes who told me to shuffle the tarot cards “until it feels right,” which is a dangerous instruction to give a woman who has recently been ghosted and now believes her intuition is broken. I shuffled like I was auditioning for a Vegas blackjack table. Nothing felt right. Everything felt symbolic.
This is the thing about heartbreak: it turns you mystical. Suddenly you’re not just sad, you’re searching. You’re googling “signs from the universe,” noticing repeating numbers, assigning emotional significance to pigeons. Tarot cards slip neatly into this era of your life because they offer what dating apps do not, structure, meaning, and the illusion that chaos has a narrative arc.
Pull a card and it’s never “He didn’t text back because he’s emotionally unavailable and conflict-avoidant.” It’s The Tower. Or Death. Or, worse, The Lovers, which feels like the universe laughing directly in your face.
And yet—there’s something deeply soothing about it. Tarot doesn’t tell you what will happen so much as it gives your feelings costumes. Your anxiety becomes a card. Your regret gets a title. Your longing is illustrated in gold leaf. Suddenly your internal mess is laid out on a table, and for once it looks intentional.
Tarot Cards Before and After the Breakup by a woman who definitely shuffled three times and still got The Tower
Seeing a psychic or medium during a relationship crisis feels suspiciously like therapy, except instead of talking yourself into insight, you sit quietly while someone else does it for you. You nod. You lean forward. You think, yes, that could be true. You grasp at meaning like it’s a flotation device.
They say things like, “You tend to give too much of yourself,” which is either a profound spiritual reading or something written on every woman’s birthday card since 1997. They say, “There’s unresolved energy from the past,” which is true of literally everyone who has ever dated.
Do they work? That depends on what you think working means.
If you expect a psychic to tell you exactly when your ex will come back (Thursday, emotionally rebranded, holding a succulent), you will be disappointed. If you expect tarot cards to override free will, therapy, and basic communication skills, they will not. The universe, it turns out, is big on hints and terrible at logistics.
But if you treat the whole thing as a mystic mirror—then yes, they absolutely work.
Because what you’re really doing isn’t outsourcing your future. You’re externalising your thoughts. You’re letting someone speak your fears out loud so you can hear how they sound in daylight. You’re giving your grief a language that feels poetic instead of pathetic.
There is something cathartic about sitting across from a stranger who believes—at least for an hour—that your heartbreak matters cosmically. That your pain is not random, but part of a pattern. That you are not foolish for still hoping.
And maybe the magic isn’t that they tell you something new. Maybe it’s that they tell you what you already know, but in a voice that feels ancient and wise instead of desperate and drunk at 1am.
I didn’t leave with answers. I left with a strange lightness. A sense that my sadness had been witnessed. That my story had been placed gently back in my hands, shuffled, and returned.
Hope, I’ve learned, doesn’t always arrive as certainty. Sometimes it comes disguised as ritual. As symbolism. As a woman in flowing fabrics telling you that you’ll be okay—not because fate demands it, but because you’ve survived worse.
And maybe that’s the real reading: not that love is coming, or that the past will make sense—but that you are allowed to seek comfort wherever you find it. Even if it’s in a deck of cards, a candlelit room, and the radical belief that healing can be a little bit magical.
For more content please follow @CherishYourselfUK on Instagram.
Cuddle Dressing
When life hurts, get dressed like a duvet with boundaries. Quilted coats, padded skirts and scarves designed to keep you warm, safe and gently facing the world again.
The Missing Milestones
There’s a particular grief in letting go of the future you always assumed was coming. On weddings that didn’t happen, children that didn’t arrive, and learning to love the life that stayed.
The Infected Heart
Forgiveness is meant to be cleansing. So why does intimacy still feel contaminated? An essay on betrayal, bodies, and the ghosts we invite back into bed.
The Story Behind Cherish Yourself
This space was created in honour of my nana, shaped by grief and heartbreak, and guided by the belief that self-care isn’t indulgent — it’s essential.
You Are Not Alone: UK Crisis Support at a Glance
If you’re feeling heartbroken or overwhelmed confidential help is available right now. Here are some UK resources that might help you.
All opinions and observations are written reflections that are personal and subjective, not factual claims or advice. If you are struggling with your mental health, please seek support from a doctor or qualified health professional.
©CherishYourself 2026
