As a young girl, I learned how life can take an excruciating left turn.
But when you’re the one choosing to turn, it’s something else entirely.
Ten years of working every angle.
Five different professionals.
Countless hours with spiritual counselors.
And then, the deeper work—
Facing my own patterns. Owning my part.
Understanding how “safety” can sometimes sound like a scream to stay silent.
To not rock the boat.
To just make it work.
But the relentless call of my soul wouldn’t let up.
So, I let go.
Almost thirty years.
Deliberately. Consciously.
There were the most beautiful hearts on the line.
I dug into my practice, spending years preparing the ground so it could hold all of us.
Waking before dawn to visualize how it might unfold—
And how we might land on the other side.
Staying present through the onslaught of outrageous fear.
Leaving, without casting anyone as hero or villain.
And now, as I pass the one-year mark of solo living, I’m beginning to see the truth:
Maybe we’re never truly stuck — we’re just paused.
Not broken. Just breathing.
Not lost. Just between chapters.
This first year — bare bones, unrecognizable — demanded a kind of listening I didn’t know I was capable of.
Even though all I ever wanted was to stay, to be safe, to belong…
As a mother, I vowed to speak less and show more.
The way forward was simple — never easy:
Return to the moment in front of me.
Again and again.
My teacher always said, don’t use cliché.
So I asked myself:
What does it really mean to be present?
To stretch the now wide enough to hold both the past and the future?
For me, it meant feeling everything.
Sitting with the emotions and letting them speak.
They arrived like wise elders, placing firm hands on my shoulders:
Sit down. Be with me. Now.
Slowly, the shore I once called “safety” transformed—
Into something steadier, quieter: an inner stability I didn’t know I had.
I married the rituals that bookend my days and fell back in love—with the very tools I’ve spent years offering others:
Breathwork. Crying. Movement. Stillness.
Beast mode workouts. Hydration. Writing.
Connection. Reframing loneliness.
Raw screaming, shaking, timed “feel sorry for myself” moments.
Waging war for peace. No triangulating.
No blame. No gossip. No judgment.
Only gratitude—
For what we had. For who we became.
Trusting.
A year of letting go.
Selling more than half my possessions.
Living in the unknown.
And finally, getting quiet enough to hear what had always been there:
Well done trusting the void. Now you will build the rope bridge across the chasm.
This is bigger than me.
It looks like destruction,
But underneath, the song of freedom is beginning to ring.
A family unbound.
Hearts held high for the courage we all took—
To live fully,
Alive,
And true.