I remember the day that damned Ten of Swords showed up. It wasn’t in some professional reading; it was the vibe I was already giving off. I was flat out, done for. Everything I had built over the last two years—the whole consulting business, the big client pitch—it all imploded in a single, messy week. The feeling was a physical ache, like someone had kicked the breath right out of me. Betrayal, loss, total rock bottom. Yeah, that card doesn’t pull punches, and neither did life.
For two solid weeks, I acted like a corpse. I refused to answer calls. I did the bare minimum to keep the lights on. I drank too much coffee and stared at the ceiling, reviewing the tape of every mistake I made. It was the biggest waste of time ever, and honestly, the worst part was the paralysis. I knew I had to move, but I just couldn’t find the switch. The guilt and anger kept me pinned down.
But you hit the wall so hard, eventually you bounce back, even just an inch. I realized the Ten of Swords isn’t about being dead; it’s about the end of a cycle. The knives are in, yeah, but they can’t go any deeper. I dragged myself to the living room, slammed a notebook down, and declared I was done being the victim. This wasn’t a spiritual journey; this was a goddamn manual labor project to get my life back. I started with three simple actions.
THE SHIFT: STOPPING THE BLEEDING
The first thing I did was kill the memory—literally. This is my Tip 1. You can’t move forward if your brain keeps replaying the disaster. I got a plain composition book and I wrote down every single, painful detail. The lies, the money lost, the sheer stupidity of the whole situation, the faces of the people who screwed me over. I didn’t try to find the lesson. I didn’t try to forgive. I just vomited the whole story onto the pages until I couldn’t write another word.
Then I grabbed a metal garbage can—one I knew wouldn’t catch fire—and I went out back. I lit the book on fire. I watched the flames curl and consume every single word. I stood there until it was just ash. The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes. It forced a physical closure. When my mind tried to re-open the file the next day, I told it: “Nope. We burned that script. It doesn’t exist anymore.” I gave myself permission to be a jerk about it. I had to. It worked better than any meditation ever could.
My Tip 2 was all about momentum—getting the machine running again. My body felt heavy, and my apartment looked like a tornado hit it. I didn’t try to tackle the big stuff like new clients or paying off debt. I picked the smallest physical chore, the one I hated most: my socks. I forced myself to collect every dirty piece of clothing, load the machine, and wait for the buzzer. And here’s the kicker: I folded and put them away immediately. The whole thing felt idiotic, but that completion of a physical circuit reset something in my head.
I repeated this for a week. The dishes. Vacuuming one room. Cleaning the bathroom mirror. I didn’t allow myself to think of the big failure until I completed the tiny task. I was clocking wins, even if the win was just a clean kitchen. It re-taught my brain the sequence: Action leads to completion. Action leads to completion. It’s stupid, but it bounces you off the floor.
My final step, Tip 3, was the necessary purge. The Ten of Swords always comes with noise. People who say they care but really just want to gossip about your failure. I went through my phone. I deleted the numbers of anyone who felt like dead weight, a drain, or anyone who called with pity in their voice. I unfollowed the social media accounts that felt like performative bullshit. I blocked the specific idiot who caused the whole mess.
I created a silence. It was harsh, sure, but healing isn’t polite. I replaced all that noise with one single, positive signal: I called an old friend who only talks about his ridiculous project car and never once asked about “how I was holding up.” I forced myself onto an information diet. No news, no drama, no toxic calls. Just the hum of the washing machine and car talk.
It’s been months now. I started a new, smaller project that I can control. I don’t think about the knives anymore. They’re gone. You got the meaning of the card. Now you need to start moving those knives yourself. Flush it, move your body, and cut the dead weight. That’s it. It worked for me. It will work for you. Don’t overthink it. Just do one of them right now. Stop reading and start the laundry.
