Man, let me tell you, I was absolutely crushed. I mean, totally floored. You know how it is when you just totally mess things up with someone you care about? Not a huge, scandalous blow-up, but that slow, creeping wedge that just finally pops you apart. I hated it. I needed that reconciliation. I was desperate to fix the thing, but I didn’t know how to even start the conversation without another explosion.
I usually pull a few cards just to check the temperature, you know? Not to predict the future, but to get a handle on the vibe. So I sat down, shuffled forever, and I pulled a simple three-card spread: Situation, Action, Outcome. The first two cards were tough but manageable, showing where the hurt was and what I needed to let go of. But then I flipped the third card, the one I asked to show the outcome of peace, the path to us being okay again.
It was the 7 of Swords.
I tell you, I just sat there and stared at that damn card, and my stomach dropped right out of my body. Seven of Swords! The trickster! The sneaky one! The person running away with only a handful of swords, leaving the mess behind! Every single book, every website I’d ever read, screamed “Deceit,” “Avoidance,” “Theft,” or “Someone is pulling a fast one on you.” I immediately threw the cards down. My brain went straight to the worst-case scenario: This meant they were going to pretend to be nice just to get something from me, or that they would never fully commit to fixing things, always having one foot out the door.
I spent a solid two days brooding over that image. I ran through every single bad thing that might happen. I was ready to just send a huge, dramatic text message laying out all my hurt and saying, “See? Even the cards say you’re going to trick me!”
My Practical Pivot: Changing the Interpretation of Action
But then, I forced myself to stop. I got the image of that figure sneaking away, looking over their shoulder. They’re not taking all the swords; they are taking exactly seven and leaving the other three stuck in the ground. I asked myself: What if the deception isn’t what they do, but what I need to do to the drama? What if the reconciliation outcome requires this kind of partial, non-confrontational, even slightly sneaky approach to the problem?
I decided to try a completely different interpretation and treat the 7 of Swords not as a warning of deceit, but as a step-by-step instruction set for achieving a partial, non-ideal peace.
Here’s exactly what I implemented:
- I Identified the Swords I Needed to Leave Behind: The guy in the card only takes seven. I grabbed a pen and wrote down the ten “swords” of our fight. Things like “Whose fault the fight was,” “All the history from three years ago,” and “The absolute perfect apology I felt I deserved.” I circled three swords I absolutely had to leave in the dirt: Blame, History, and The Need to Be Right. These were the heavy ones nobody wanted to carry.
- I Employed the “Sneak Around the Front Door” Strategy: The card shows a sneaky approach. I resisted the urge to send the huge, formal apology text or demand a meeting. Instead, I found a funny meme from a totally random topic we both loved—a movie reference, something easy. I sent it out of the blue with zero context, just “Thought of you when I saw this, lol.” It was a light, seven-of-swords move: partial, avoiding the main issue, but showing a flicker of connection.
- I Only Took What I Could Carry: When they finally responded, it wasn’t a big, heartfelt, flowery message. It was short, a little dry, and a tiny bit awkward. My old instinct would have been to immediately launch into the “okay, now let’s talk about the real problem.” But the 7 of Swords held me back. I matched their energy. I kept my response equally light, focused only on the meme, and then I pulled back. I didn’t try to force the rest of the conversation. I was only willing to carry this seven-sword-weight of contact.
The Imperfect Peace I Realized
And here’s the kicker: It worked. The reconciliation wasn’t the big, dramatic, hug-it-out movie scene I initially craved. It was partial. It was awkward. We never actually spoke about the initial fight again—it was one of those three swords I left in the ground. But peace? We found our way back to regular texts, sharing funny stuff, and eventually just hanging out like we used to. No drama, just… a new normal.
The 7 of Swords didn’t predict deceit from them. It instructed me to deceive the crisis. It told me to sneak past the front door of the fight, to leave the heavy luggage of perfection and blame behind, and to only take the necessary, light connection I could carry. It showed me that sometimes, peace doesn’t come from a grand, honest, ten-of-swords confrontation, but from a strategic, slightly avoiding, seven-of-swords pivot. So yeah, if you pull that card for an outcome you want, don’t panic. Just start thinking like the thief, but instead of stealing, you’re secretly stealing back your peace, one light sword at a time.
