There is a very specific kind of exhaustion that comes from living in the "in-between." It’s not the exhaustion of a breakup, which is heavy and dark. It’s the exhaustion of a rollercoaster. One day you’re at the top—they texted first, they used an emoji, they said they missed you—and you feel like you can fly. The next day, or maybe even just the next hour, the air goes cold. The replies are short. The "seen" receipt sits there for eight hours. And suddenly, you’re back at the bottom, wondering what you did wrong.
We call these "mixed signals." It’s such a clinical term for something that feels like a slow-motion heart attack.
But here’s the thing I’ve noticed about mixed signals: we don't treat them like a warning. We treat them like a puzzle. We think that if we can just figure out why they are "hot" one day and "cold" the next, we can find a way to keep them "hot" forever. We treat the moments of warmth as the "truth," and the moments of coldness as a temporary glitch—a misunderstanding, a busy day at work, a fear of intimacy.
I’m not sure... but I think we do this because we are desperate for hope. And a mixed signal is just enough hope to keep you from walking away, but never enough to let you rest.
It’s a cruel kind of magic, isn’t it? The way someone can give you just enough attention to keep you hooked. I used to think of it like breadcrumbs. You’re starving, and someone drops a crumb. You’re so grateful for the crumb that you don't notice they’re holding the whole loaf behind their back. You stay because you think, "Well, if they gave me a crumb today, maybe tomorrow I’ll get a slice."
But the slice never comes. Just more crumbs. Just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to make you feel full.
In the world of Tarot, we often see this in cards like the Seven of Cups. All these beautiful visions, all these choices, but nothing is solid. It’s all mist and illusion. When you’re in a relationship of mixed signals, you’re living in the Seven of Cups. You’re in love with the version of them that exists in the "hot" moments. You’re in love with the potential.
But you aren't living with the potential. You’re living with the person who leaves you wondering if you’re annoying them just by existing.
I remember talking to a friend about a guy she was seeing. She said, "He’s so amazing when we’re together. He’s present, he’s kind, he’s sweet. But then he goes silent for three days. I’m just so confused."
I asked her, "If a restaurant was only open two days a week, and they never told you which days, would you call it a great restaurant? Or would you just find a place that actually wants to serve you dinner?"
She laughed, but it was a sad sound. Because she knew. We all know. But we’d rather be "confused" than be "done." Being confused feels like a process. Being done feels like a funeral.
Inconsistency is a form of control. Whether they mean it to be or not, it keeps you on your toes. It keeps you checking your phone. It keeps them as the center of your universe because you’re constantly trying to decode the weather of their mood. It’s a very effective way to make someone obsessed with you. But it’s a terrible way to love someone.
I want to say something that might feel a bit like a thorn, but I promise I’m saying it with my hand on your shoulder: Consistency is the only clarity that matters.
If someone loves you, they want you to feel safe. They don't want you to wake up wondering if today is a day you’re allowed to talk to them. They don't want you to have to "earn" their attention by being the most chill, most perfect version of yourself.
Love isn't a performance you have to put on to keep the lights from going out. Love is the light staying on, even when you’re tired, even when you’re messy, even when you have nothing to say.
So, what do we do with the mixed signals?
First, we have to stop calling them "mixed." They aren't mixed. They are very clear. They are telling you: "I am only available on my terms. I am only interested when it’s convenient for me. I am not concerned with your peace of mind."
Once you translate "mixed signals" into that sentence, the hope starts to lose its grip. It’s not a mystery anymore. It’s a boundary—theirs. And now you have to decide what your boundary is.
I’m not sure... maybe you’re afraid that if you demand consistency, they’ll leave. And I have to be honest with you: they might. But if someone leaves because you asked for the bare minimum of emotional safety, they weren't staying for you anyway. They were staying for the ego boost of having someone wait for their crumbs.
In Tarot, the Eight of Cups is the card of walking away from something that is "almost" enough, but not quite. It’s a sad card, but it’s a brave one. It’s about realizing that the cups are still there, but they’re empty. You can keep staring at the empty cups, hoping they’ll fill with water, or you can turn around and start walking toward the mountains.
The mountains look cold and lonely. But there’s fresh water up there. And more importantly, there’s your dignity.
Mixed signals feel like hope because we think the "good" moments are a promise of what’s to come. But in an inconsistent relationship, the "good" moments are just the bait.
Tonight, I want you to look at the patterns, not the peaks. Don't think about the best day you ever had together. Think about the average Tuesday. Think about the last time you felt anxious and reached out—did they make you feel better, or did they make you feel like a burden?
The average is the truth. The peaks are just scenery.
You deserve a love that feels like a solid floor beneath your feet. Not a tightrope. Not a guessing game. Not a "maybe." I know it’s hard to let go of the hope, especially when the "good" parts feel so good. But you have to ask yourself: is the high of the peak worth the terror of the fall?
I think you already know the answer. And I think... I think you’re getting ready to stop playing the game.
(Clarity is realizing that 'not knowing' is a 'no' you haven't accepted yet.)
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