03/02/2025
I don’t post much on social media these days—mostly because life has been full, intense, and transformative. It’s easy to share the sunshine and rainbows, but the truth is, these past few years have taken me to the depths of my soul. They broke me open, stripped me down, and in the process, revolutionized not only who I am but also the work I do.
Truth be told, I’ve died and come back to life more times than I can count—both literally and metaphorically. But this last time was different. It was final.
Four years ago, I leapt into the unknown, uprooting my entire life to move to a foreign country. At the time, I told myself I was chasing adventure, a fresh start. But the truth? I was running. Running from myself, from choices that shattered everything I thought I knew. I wasn’t blind to it—I saw it all unfolding—but I had no idea how to hold it, how to make sense of it. So, I jumped. Headfirst into the void.
What followed was the darkest night of the soul I could have ever imagined. I had never known true depression before. Sure, I had struggled, faced hardships, but this? This was different. Living in Panamá, I lost myself. The land was foreign, the language a barrier, the isolation unbearable. I longed for what I had left behind, but even if I returned, I wasn’t sure who I would be. The weight of it all crushed me—so much so that my body manifested the pain. "Broken heart syndrome," they called it, along with POTS, another autoimmune condition that left me barely able to function. It was as if my very cells were grieving.
The irony? I had run to escape, yet there was nowhere left to go. No more distractions, no more escape routes. I was forced to sit with my wounds, to face my deepest fears, to descend into the heartbreak and let it crack me open. It was brutal, but somewhere in the wreckage, a quiet knowing remained: this is happening for me, not to me.
I begged for it to end, to be released, but I also knew—deep in my bones—that I wouldn’t leave until I had met every shadow, turned over every stone, and allowed the pain to do what it came to do: transform me.
And then, one day, in a moment of complete surrender, it happened. The release. The door opened, and life began to move again. My inner child let go, and for the first time in years, I allowed myself to receive the healing I had given so freely to others.
Now, as we prepare to return to California, to our new home in San Luis Obispo, I look back at these past years and see them for what they were: an initiation. I was taken to the brink of every emotion, to depths of consciousness I never knew existed. And somehow, I made it through.
I return to my country a different person. I no longer recognize the one who left. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be stepping into—because I have changed, and so has the place I’m returning to.
But I do know this: I am ready for it all.
And I step forward with love. Love for the journey, for the lessons, for the people who stood by me and the ones who didn’t. I forgive it all—the pain, the betrayals, the misunderstandings—because I see now that it was never about them. It was always about me. About what I needed to learn, to feel, to release.
So, I move forward with gratitude. Grateful for the suffering that shaped me, for the healing that rebuilt me, and for the love that now leads me home 🫶