Getting dumped feels like someone ripped your heart out, threw it on the ground, and did a little dance on it. And honestly? That’s because energetically, that’s pretty much what happened. When you’re in a relationship, your energies intertwine like vines growing together—roots deep, branches tangled, the whole deal. Then suddenly it’s over, and you’re left with all these phantom limbs reaching out for someone who isn’t there anymore.
Here’s what nobody tells you: breakups aren’t just emotional. They’re spiritual earthquakes. Your aura has holes in it. Your chakras are spinning backward. There’s leftover energy from your ex clinging to your stuff, your apartment, maybe even your favorite coffee mug. And while your non-magical friends are buying ice cream and queuing up sad playlists, you’ve got access to something way more powerful. You can actually do something about the energetic wreckage.
This isn’t about cursing your ex (though we’ll get to why you might want to resist that urge). This is about reclaiming your power, clearing out the spiritual debris, and rebuilding yourself from the inside out. Because right now, you’re probably feeling like a hollowed-out shell of yourself, and that’s not just metaphorical—your energy body is legitimately compromised. The good news? You have tools that can speed up healing in ways therapy alone never could.
What follows is your magical first-aid kit for heartbreak. These aren’t just symbolic gestures to make you feel better (though they’ll do that too). These are real energetic interventions that work on the same plane where the actual damage happened. Think of it as spiritual triage. You’re going to stop the bleeding, remove the shrapnel, and start knitting yourself back together—one spell, one ritual, one boundary at a time.
Cut the Cords
You know that feeling when you can’t stop thinking about them? When you compulsively check their social media at 2am? That’s not just obsession—that’s actual energetic cords still connecting you. During relationships, we create these etheric attachments that link our energy bodies together. They’re supposed to dissolve naturally over time, but sometimes (especially with intense relationships or bad breakups) they stick around like spiritual duct tape.
Here’s how to cut them. Get yourself a black candle and something that represents the cord—yarn, string, ribbon, whatever. Light the candle and hold the cord taut between your hands. Visualize all the ways you’re still tied to this person: the hopes you had, the future you planned, the version of yourself you became with them. See all of that flowing into this physical cord. Then say something like: “What connected us is now dissolved. I release you, I release me, I take back what’s mine.” Cut the cord with scissors (or carefully burn through it with the candle) and bury the pieces somewhere off your property.
You might need to do this more than once. Cords are sneaky and they regrow if you keep feeding them with your attention. Every time you stalk their Instagram or drive by their house, you’re basically watering a plant you’re trying to kill.
Cleanse Everything They Touched
Your space is contaminated—not with cooties, but with energetic residue. Every surface they touched, every room where you fought or made up or made plans, every gift they gave you—it’s all holding onto bits of that relationship. Living in that is like trying to heal a wound while rolling around in dirt.
Start with the obvious stuff. Anything they gave you needs to go: donate it, sell it, burn it, whatever feels right. Don’t keep things out of guilt or because “it’s wasteful.” Your peace is worth more than a sweater. Then get yourself some cleansing supplies: white sage or palo santo if that’s your thing, or just salt water and intention if you prefer something simpler. Go room by room, corner to corner. Smoke cleanse or asperge with salt water while stating clearly: “I remove all energy that isn’t mine. This space is clean, this space is mine.”
Pay special attention to your bedroom. Strip the bed, wash everything in salt water, and if you can swing it, get new sheets. The bed is where the most intense energy exchange happened, and you don’t want to keep sleeping in that. Flip your mattress, rearrange the furniture, paint a wall if you’re feeling ambitious. Make it unrecognizable from the space you shared with them.
Don’t forget digital spaces. Delete old texts, archive photos, unfollow them on everything. Your phone and computer hold energy too, and every notification is a little energetic hook pulling you backward.
Make a Banishing Jar
Sometimes you need something ongoing, something that keeps working even when you’re too exhausted to do another ritual. That’s where a banishing jar comes in. This is basically a magical restraining order—a continuous boundary that keeps their energy away from yours.
Get a jar with a lid (a mason jar works great). Write their full name on a small piece of paper—if you know their birth date, add that too. Add ingredients that represent banishing and boundaries: black salt, hot pepper flakes, vinegar, rusty nails, broken glass if you’re feeling extra. As you add each ingredient, state what you’re doing: “You have no power here. You cannot reach me. You are banished from my energy, my space, my life.” Seal the jar tight (maybe drip some black candle wax on the lid for extra oomph) and shake it while visualizing their influence shattering apart and dissolving.
Bury this jar somewhere far from your home—a crossroads is traditional, or just somewhere you’ll never go. Some people prefer to keep it in the freezer (the “freeze them out” approach), which works too, though you have to deal with explaining it if someone finds it. The point is: out of sight, actively working to maintain your boundary.
If you start feeling them creeping back into your thoughts or dreams, your jar might need refreshing. Dig it up, add more vinegar and intention, rebury it. This is maintenance magic.
Take a Ritual Bath (Or Ten)
Water is ridiculously good at clearing energy, and right now you need to be selfish about your spiritual hygiene. This isn’t a regular bath—this is intentional cleansing, pulling all that heartbreak and attachment out of your aura and washing it down the drain.
Run the bath as hot as you can stand. Add salt (sea salt, epsom salt, himalayan salt, whatever you’ve got—salt absorbs negative energy like nothing else). Throw in some herbs: rosemary for cleansing, lavender for peace, maybe some rose petals for self-love if you’re ready for that step. Light white candles around the tub if you’re not going to burn the house down. Before you get in, set a clear intention: “I wash away all that isn’t mine. I reclaim my energy. I am whole and complete alone.”
As you soak, visualize all the pain, all the attachment, all the pieces of yourself you gave away—see it all as dark, murky water flowing out of your body and dissolving into the bath. When you pull the plug, watch it spiral down the drain and imagine it going far away from you, into the earth where it’ll be neutralized. Don’t reuse the towel—everything from this bath is contaminated with what you released.
Do this weekly, or whenever you feel them creeping back into your energy. Some breakups need months of spiritual bathing. That’s fine. You’re literally washing away layers of shared reality.
Reclaim Your Power Objects
Think about what you gave up for this relationship. Not physical stuff—we’re talking about the parts of yourself you dimmed or hid or changed. Maybe you stopped doing tarot because they thought it was weird. Maybe you wore less black, laughed quieter, made yourself smaller. Every compromise left a little hole in your personal power.
Make a list of everything you stopped doing, stopped being, stopped wearing. Then systematically reclaim it. Pull out the crystals you boxed up, the altar pieces you hid, the clothes that felt “too much.” Wear the witchiest outfit you own to the grocery store. Read tarot in public. Burn incense that they hated. Each act of reclamation is a tiny spell: “I take myself back.”
Create or reclaim a power object—something that represents the version of you that exists independent of any relationship. Maybe it’s a ring you wear on a specific finger, or a necklace you charge under the full moon, or a crystal you carry. Enchant it with the energy of autonomy: “I am complete. I am whole. I am mine.” Touch it whenever you feel yourself slipping back into old patterns or missing what you had.
This isn’t about becoming a different person. It’s about remembering who you were before you folded yourself into partnership.
Do a Return to Sender Spell
Here’s something satisfying: sending back all the emotional garbage they dumped on you. Their insecurities that became your problems, their anger you absorbed, their expectations you carried. None of that was yours to hold, and you’re giving it back.
Light a black candle for banishing. Write down everything you’re still carrying that belongs to them: “Your fear of commitment. Your inability to communicate. Your unresolved trauma. Your expectations I could never meet.” Be specific and ruthless. Then burn the paper and as it goes up in smoke, say: “This was never mine to carry. I return it to sender. You deal with your own shit.” Let the ashes cool, then scatter them outside your property—blow them away from you, ideally toward where they live if you know the direction.
This works for positive stuff too, honestly. Those amazing feelings they gave you? Those weren’t really about you—they were about the fantasy version of you they created. Send those back too. You don’t need borrowed worthiness.
You might feel weirdly empty after this spell. That’s normal—you just cleared out a bunch of space. Don’t rush to fill it. Let yourself be hollow for a minute.
Freeze Your Tendency to Reach Out
Three weeks from now, maybe four, you’re going to want to text them. You’ll have a dream, or hear a song, or something will remind you of an inside joke, and your fingers will itch for your phone. This is where a freezer spell saves your dignity and your healing.
Write their name and number on a piece of paper. Add words like “stay away” and “leave me alone” and “no contact.” If you want to get fancy, cross their name out nine times with black ink. Put the paper in a small container (a plastic bag works, or a tiny jar), fill it with water, and stick it in the back of your freezer. As you do, say: “You are frozen out of my life. I cannot reach you. You cannot reach me. This door is closed.”
This doesn’t just work on them—it works on you. It’s a physical reminder every time you open the freezer: nope, that connection is frozen, we’re not doing this. If you do break and text them anyway, it’ll feel worse because you’ll know you’re actively working against your own magic.
Keep it frozen for as long as you need to. Some people leave these in their freezer for years. When you finally feel truly done—not bitter-done but indifferent-done—you can take it out, let it thaw, and dispose of it. That’s how you’ll know you’re really free.
Build New Wards Around Your Heart
Your heart chakra is wide open and bleeding energy everywhere. Before you broke up, it was calibrated to connect to them specifically—now it’s just… open. Vulnerable. Anyone could walk in. You need to rebuild your energetic boundaries from scratch.
Visualize your heart chakra as a door. Right now it’s hanging off the hinges. In meditation, see yourself repairing it: strong, solid, with a lock that you control. You decide who gets in now. You decide what energy you accept. Breathe green light into your chest and imagine it forming a shield—not to lock out all love forever, but to filter what comes in and out.
Carry rose quartz to keep your heart healing without hardening. Green aventurine for emotional protection. Black tourmaline in your pocket to deflect anyone else’s relationship drama (because everyone’s going to have opinions about your breakup and you don’t need to absorb their energy about it).
Reinforce this daily. Every morning, visualize that door and make sure the lock still works. Say: “My heart is protected. My energy is my own. I choose what I let in.”
Honor the Grief (Yes, Magically)
Look, you’re going to be sad. Magic doesn’t bypass grief—it moves through it differently. Create a ritual space for the sadness instead of trying to banish it. Grief is information; it tells you what mattered. Trying to magic it away completely is like trying to skip chapters in a book. You’ll just have to go back and read them eventually.
Set up a temporary grief altar. Put pictures of who you were together, meaningful objects, whatever represents what you lost. Light a white candle for release and a blue one for healing. Sit with it and let yourself feel everything. Cry, scream, whatever needs to come out. Then thank the relationship for what it taught you (even if the lesson was “don’t date someone like that again”) and thank yourself for being brave enough to feel this.
When you’re done—and you’ll know when you’re done—dismantle the altar. Keep one thing if you need to, release the rest. This isn’t about forgetting. It’s about transforming the grief from an open wound into a scar: still there, still part of your story, but healed.
Some people write letters they never send. Some people perform full funeral rites for the relationship. Do whatever resonates. The magic is in the acknowledgment, the feeling, and then the release.
Don’t Curse Them (Probably)
I know you want to. They hurt you, and hexing feels like justice. But here’s the thing about curse work: it keeps you energetically tied to them. Every curse is a cord. Every hex is attention and energy flowing toward them instead of toward your healing. You think you’re punishing them, but you’re mostly just keeping the wound fresh.
If they genuinely harmed you—abuse, betrayal, something beyond normal breakup pain—that’s different. Protection magic and justice work have their place. But for regular heartbreak? For someone who just didn’t love you the way you needed? Cursing them is like drinking poison and expecting them to die.
If you absolutely must do something, do a mirror spell: let them receive back exactly what they put out into the world. That’s fair, it’s neutral, and it doesn’t require you to stay emotionally invested in their downfall. Visualize a mirror between you, reflecting their energy back to them, while yours stays with you.
Then do a cord cutting (again) because even thinking about cursing them means you’re still tangled up energetically. The best revenge is genuinely not giving a shit, and you can’t get there while you’re actively working magic toward them.
Charge Your Crystals With New Intentions
All those crystals you have? Rose quartz for love, whatever else you’ve been using for relationship magic? They’re programmed with your old intentions, your old relationship, your old self. They need to be wiped clean and reprogrammed for who you’re becoming.
Clear them first: leave them in salt overnight, or under running water, or in moonlight. As they clear, imagine all the old energy—the hopes, the plans, the specific love you were cultivating—draining out. They’re blank slates now.
Then charge them with new intentions. That rose quartz? Now it’s for self-love. Hold it and pour your intention into it: “I am worthy of love, starting with my own. I am complete alone. I am becoming who I’m meant to be.” Your clear quartz? Clarity about your actual desires, not desires shaped around another person. Black tourmaline? Boundaries and the strength to keep them.
Keep these newly programmed stones close. On your altar, in your pocket, under your pillow. They’re working on the energetic level to reinforce the reality you’re building—one where you’re whole and healed and free.
Read Your Own Tarot
You probably want clarity: will they come back, was this a mistake, is there someone better coming? Resist the urge to do reunion spreads or future-partner readings. Right now, those are just ways to avoid being present with your grief.
Instead, read tarot for self-knowledge. Do a spread about what this relationship taught you, what patterns you need to break, what you’re actually ready for. Pull a card for what you need to release and one for what you need to cultivate. Ask the cards: “What part of me needs attention right now?” Not “when will I feel better” but “how can I heal myself?”
The Tower card might come up a lot. Let it. This breakup is a tower moment—something that felt permanent just exploded. That’s not bad; that’s transformation. The Death card? Also not bad. It means an ending that makes space for new beginnings. Don’t read the cards as fortune-telling right now. Read them as mirrors showing you your own process.
Journal what comes up. You’ll be amazed how much clarity you have when you stop asking about them and start asking about you.
Set Boundaries With Mutual Friends
This is partly mundane advice, partly energetic protection. Your mutual friends are now channels through which their energy can reach you. They’ll tell you what your ex is doing, pass messages, try to facilitate reconciliation because they’re uncomfortable with the split.
You need to ward against this. Have an honest conversation: “I need you not to talk to me about them. I’m healing and I need space.” If they can’t respect that, you might need to distance yourself from those friendships too—at least temporarily.
Energetically, visualize a filter around these friendships. Their energy can reach you, but your ex’s energy cannot pass through them to you. It’s like putting up a privacy fence that you can still talk through, but they can’t see through.
Watch out for flying monkeys—people your ex is using to check on you or make themselves look good. These people are energetic leaks in your boundary, even if they don’t mean to be.
Create a New Moon Ritual for Fresh Starts
Every new moon is a chance to reset, and you’re going to need multiple resets. This isn’t a one-and-done healing process. It’s cyclical, spiral-shaped, two-steps-forward-one-step-back messy.
On the new moon, create space to release and reset. Write down what you’re letting go of from this cycle: “I release comparing every date to them. I release checking their social media. I release the fantasy of who we could have been.” Burn it safely or bury it.
Then write what you’re calling in: “I call in confidence in my own company. I call in clarity about what I actually need. I call in the ability to be alone without being lonely.” Keep this paper on your altar or somewhere you’ll see it daily.
Do this every month. You’ll be shocked at how different your releases and calls become over time. Month one might be “I release the pain.” Month three might be “I release the last threads of hoping they’ll change.” Month six might be “I release needing closure from them.” The moon doesn’t judge your timeline.
Ground Yourself Obsessively
Heartbreak makes you floaty, ungrounded, living in your head and your feelings instead of your body. You need to get back into your physical self, and grounding is how.
Walk barefoot on the earth as often as possible. Literally put your hands in dirt. Eat root vegetables (yeah, really—potatoes, carrots, beets). They carry grounding energy. Visualize roots growing from your tailbone down into the earth, anchoring you to something more stable than your emotions.
Carry hematite or black tourmaline—both are grounding stones. When you feel yourself spiraling into “what if” or “if only,” hold the stone and visualize that spiral energy draining down into the earth through your feet.
Ground before and after any magical work. Otherwise you’re just swirling around in emotions and intentions without anchoring them into reality. Magic without grounding is like writing a check from an account with no money in it.
Reclaim Your Pleasure
One of the shittiest things about breakups is how much they make you forget you’re a sensual being who deserves pleasure independent of another person. You’ve associated feeling good with them, and now that they’re gone, it’s like you forgot your body can feel good on its own.
Take yourself on dates. Make the food you love. Wear the lingerie for yourself. Create a self-pleasure practice that has nothing to do with missing them or imagining them or anyone else. This is you reconnecting with your own capacity for joy and sensation.
Enchant your self-care. Charge your body oil with intentions of self-love. Make your skincare routine a glamour spell. Every act of pleasure is an act of rebellion against the narrative that you’re incomplete without them.
Buy yourself flowers. Light candles for no reason. Dance alone in your living room. Your body needs to remember it’s alive and worthy of good things all by itself.
Know When to Stop the Magic and Just Feel
Sometimes you’re going to be too sad to light a candle. Too angry to meditate. Too raw for ritual. That’s okay. Magic isn’t a bypass for being human. There will be nights when the most magical thing you can do is cry into your pillow and eat ice cream straight from the container.
The point of all this witchcraft isn’t to avoid feeling—it’s to create a container strong enough to hold what you’re feeling without breaking. It’s to clear the energetic debris so the real grief can move through you cleanly instead of getting stuck.
Some days your practice is elaborate ritual. Some days it’s just remembering to breathe and touching your protective crystal. Both count. Don’t weaponize your magic against yourself by making healing another thing you have to perform perfectly.
You’re not failing at witchcraft if you’re still sad three months later. You’re not bad at magic if you still dream about them. Healing isn’t linear, and magic doesn’t override that. It just gives you tools to work with the process instead of being drowned by it.
