Planet Soul
Don’t Fall for the ‘Twin Flame’ Trap
It’s just woo-woo-speak for toxic codependency
Last year, I was eating a salad and watching Bravo’s Southern Charm when cast member Madison LeCroy called her on-again, off-again boyfriend Austen her “twin flame.”
A piece of lettuce fell out of my mouth.
I’d been reading a lot about twin flames at the time, mostly because my messy lover had said I was hers. (To be fair, I was messy too. We were messy together.)
And I’d been seeing my own twisted relationship in Austen and Madison’s desperate attempts to cling to each other despite all logical evidence that they should not be together. They had different values and goals. They didn’t respect one another. They cheated on each other constantly. They made each other miserable. But they somehow ended up back together, again and again.
Twin flame shit.
When I first Googled the term, I was directed to articles from women’s magazines like Allure and Cosmopolitan and Goop, as well as more janky neospiritual websites with names like Loner Wolf and The Twin Flame Tribe.
There are a lot of articles on it.
The definitions vary slightly, but most agree that a twin flame is one soul split into two bodies. Like a soul mate, a twin flame brings an immediate and electric sense of recognition upon meeting, like you’ve known each other your entire lives. But a twin flame is, pointedly, not a soul mate. Unlike twin flames, soul mates do not share a consciousness.
Because your twin flame is your other half, they confront you with the worst parts of yourself. After the initial stages of fairy-tale ecstasy, egos start to clash. Wounds and traumas are triggered. Believers say the discord is a positive thing. According to “psychospiritual mentor” Lisa Vallejos, your twin flame “pushes you to want to engage with the divine, shift consciousness, and become a better, soulful being.”
Because your twin flame is your other half, they confront you with the worst parts of yourself.
