Why Cutting Isn’t Enough—I Pull Every Cord, Every Time

I’ve done cord cutting. I can even show you how to do it in a way that gives real relief—prayers, scissors, visualization, the whole thing. It works. It makes people feel lighter in the moment; I get it. I used to lean on it, too. But it’s only temporary. Somewhere between all those late nights and the tiny wins, I noticed the same pattern—the relief didn’t hold. The same pulls, the same dreams, the same ache, came back. Which is not a failure of the person doing the ritual; it’s just what happens when you tidy the surface without touching the roots.

So I began to pull instead. And once I felt the difference—that quiet, sacred space where someone else’s weight used to sit—there was no turning back. Pulling gets to the root. It’s deeper, messier, and more permanent. It’s the difference between sweeping dust off the floor and ripping up the floorboards to find the rot. Both can be useful, but only one of them actually stops the house from caving in.

And I don’t just pull one cord and call it a day. I pull every single one I see. I scan your field multiple times, because cords like to hide. They burrow behind other cords, cloak themselves in memories, and if you don’t yank them from the root, they’ll regrow like weeds in the dark. That’s why I built Goddess’s Renewal the way that I did. Cord pulling is the foundation, but we (you and I) don’t stop there. We clear the aura, ground the body, purge the debris, and lock your energy into a new frequency so that it’s not easy for new cords to take hold.

Cords form from any type of charged exchange—I’m talking sex, grief, betrayal, obsession, trauma, breathless longing, repetitive attention. Some feel nourishing. Some can even feed you. The ones that don’t feed you, though, slowly drain you, until you think that fatigue and numbness are just “life.” They show up as sudden waves of emotion that don’t fit your current moment, as dreams that drag you back, as the urge to check their page when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. They tuck into places like your heart, womb, throat, and solar plexus, and piggyback on whatever you’re already carrying.

When I pull cords, I find where they’re anchored. I take it out at the base, clear the residue, seal the area, then scan again, and again, because extraction often reveals other cords that were hiding, like bedbugs under a mattress. If something surfaces while I’m working, I pull that, too. I don’t quit halfway or “hope” that they’re gone. I make sure.

And yes, cord pulling can be very intense. You might cry. You might shake. You might yawn until your entire nervous system rearranges itself. You might even laugh at how stupidly good it feels to finally be able to stop carrying someone else’s noise. The hollow left behind isn’t emptiness; it’s renewal. It sounds dramatic, I know, but you quite literally feel the difference in the way your body holds itself afterward—lighter, less reactive, less porous.

If you’re worried about things coming back, boundaries matter. If you slip back into the same energetic patterns, you can attract new cords. That’s just life. But once your field is cleared and strengthened, which I do in every session, you have a different baseline. You make different choices from a steadier center, and you stop reflexively handing your energy away.

You’ll notice the changes fast. Immediately, for most. Better sleep. Decisions stop feeling like tug-of-war. Boundaries become second nature. The repetitive patterns that used to feel inevitable begin to unravel. People will notice. You’ll feel less like a haunted house, and more like a house with light streaming through the windows.

You’ve carried things that never belonged to you, and for far too long. You’ve mistaken their voice for your own, their hunger for your need, their shadow for your truth. That’s what cords do, babe—they blur the lines until you can’t tell where you end and they begin.

When I pull them, the lines come back. The separation is clean. Your body remembers what it feels like to be sovereign again.

And that’s exactly why I built Goddess’s Renewal. Not to give you a quick fix or a pretty ritual, but to return you to yourself—clear, grounded, and free in a way that you don’t have to question. The kind of freedom that you don’t just feel in your aura, but in your bones, your breath, your choices.

If you’re ready for that—if you’re done carrying ghosts and want to know what your energy feels like without anyone else inside it—book your session. I’ll meet you there.