Why You See Through The Matrix

The Dark Night of the Soul

Back in 2020, when the Covid Event was unleashed upon the world, I saw through it right away. It was so obvious to me that governments and supranational organizations were stimulating the conditions for panic, consolidating power while assaulting our civil liberties under the guise of safety.

It was so clear to me that I naively figured everyone would see through it and resist it. Obviously, the majority did not.

So what allowed me, and a small fringe minority of others, to see through the Matrix?

I had a theory back then. I’ll tell you about it now.

A few years earlier, I had experienced a shocking event that completely altered my perception of my role in my family of origin, and my blueprint for relationships. It led me down a psychic rabbit hole that can be best described as the dark night of the soul. When I resurfaced, I understood that my experience was not unique— it was a profoundly human pattern that has existed since the foundation of civilization.

Perhaps it was the fundamental reason I saw through the Matrix in 2020.

Back in 2018, I was a recovering hot mess. My self-destructive tendencies had brought me a world of pain, both led by bad choices and putting myself into precarious situations that were ultimately traumatizing. When I met my now husband, I was inspired to continue on my journey to become a healthier individual, emotionally, physically and psychologically. I quit drinking vodka, stopped smoking cigarettes, and in general started to really get my shit together.

I was elevated by love. I was shedding the layers of maladaptive defences and habits, and coming back to my authentic self. Love inspired me to break free of my self-imposed shackles. I was flourishing, glowing, and according to everyone in my inner circle, changing.

The thing about changing is that it threatens the status quo. People may not like to see you suffer, but they like to rescue. They like to be needed. They like to commiserate. As messed up as you may be, they like knowing what to expect from you.

And now, nobody knew what to expect. The symbiosis of my enmeshed family of origin was unravelling. My friends didn’t understand why I didn’t want to take shots of tequila on girl’s night out anymore. My family wanted to know why I was quitting my job, a shell career and lifestyle I was increasingly unhappy with.

To them, there was a common denominator, and it wasn’t me. It must have been my boyfriend. He must have been controlling me, because there was no way I would become healthy via my own agency.

This insulted me to no end. I had always been a strong-willed, determined and emotionally intelligent person. I had taken a walk into the dark neck of the woods, and decided I wanted to come back into the light. My romantic relationship, where I felt authentically seen and understood, gave me the unequivocal inspiration to do it.

The righteous anger I felt at the insinuations that my boyfriend was “changing” me into a different person fuelled my individuation. I began to become more independent from my tribe, from my family, and decided not to let their subtle comments and concerns deter me from my path: one of happiness, growth, and meaning.

Eventually, everyone’s “worrying” started to feel like control. Things reached a head shortly after my boyfriend and I got engaged. I was on cloud nine, but my cloud was quickly pierced by major drama and emotional turmoil.

I was confronted by multiple family members with blatant accusations: I was being controlled, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was making huge mistakes, I should have consulted them before quitting my job, and the kicker, “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

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I was devastated but I held strong. I explained to them where I was coming from, even writing long letters— to which they never replied— and told them we needed a cool down period. I needed a break from their intrusive behaviour, and time to reflect and centre myself. This was supposed to be the happiest of times, but it was turning into a nightmare.

At this point, I expected some rational reciprocity, but found none. The situation was escalating; my request for peace was dismissed and I was bombarded from all angles. The accusations became more insidious, now I was told I was harming members of the family and responsible for their pain. For me, this was so confusing and painful. But deep down, it was also familiar.

I was bewildered. Why could they not see things from my perspective? Why had they ignored my pleas for thoughtful contemplation, which I hoped would be followed by reconciliation? Why was I being blamed for everyone’s emotional state? What was my crime? Didn’t they want me to be happy?

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