the loneliness I’ve been carrying since moving here from Winnipeg for Étienne—the Frenchman whose online smile stole my heart—has been crushing me. That Valentine’s Day disaster at the restaurant, his aggression over a simple chicken dish, his humiliating words, left me in tears, realizing I don’t deserve this. I’ve been lost, questioning everything, but lately, I’ve been looking for signs, asking questions of the universe, or angels, or whatever’s out there. And, God help me, they’re starting to come, like whispers I can’t ignore.
It started after I found that YouTube podcast about talking to angels. I thought it was silly, but I was so lonely, so desperate for something to hold onto, I signed up for a class. I spent days learning how to quiet my mind, ask for guidance, and spot the signs—feathers, numbers, moments that feel too perfect to be chance. At first, I felt foolish, whispering, “Show me what to do. Should I stay with Étienne?” into the dark. But then the signs started showing up, and they’re shaking me awake. The other day, I turned on the radio, and there it was—Chris Stapleton’s “You Should Probably Leave,” the lyrics hitting like a punch: “You should probably leave… before we do something we regret.” I froze, my coffee mug halfway to my lips, my heart racing. It felt like the universe was screaming at me.
Then there was the feather—white, delicate, caught in the grass outside the village store, right after I’d asked, “Is this relationship worth saving?” Yesterday, a neighbor I barely know stopped me on my walk and said, “You look like you’re carrying a heavy load. Don’t forget you can set it down.” Her words landed like a signpost, pointing me toward something I’ve been afraid to face. And this morning, my phone lit up at exactly 11:11, just as I was thinking about how Étienne’s jealousy, his coldness, his lack of passion have left me feeling like a ghost in my own life. These aren’t just coincidences—they’re answers to the questions I’ve been asking.
I’ve seen the red flags for months—his possessiveness over my phone, the way we share no common interests, his aggressive outbursts that leave me small. I moved here chasing a dream, but I’m waking up to the truth: I’ve been betraying my intuition, ignoring my gut. These signs—the song, the feather, the neighbor’s words—they’re telling me what I’ve known deep down: I deserve better than a love that hurts. Sitting here, the candle from my angel meditations flickering, I’m starting to feel it, this quiet strength rising in me. I’m still scared—terrified of leaving, of starting over at 45 in a world that feels so big and uncertain. But the signs keep coming, and they’re clear: “You should probably leave.” I’m whispering to the angels now, or maybe just to myself, for the courage to listen, to choose me, to walk away from this loneliness and toward something that feels like home.