07/13/2026
I don’t post much about my personal life or get raw with you. Sometimes it’s good to show we are vulnerable, to show we have flaws, cracks and needs. So here is me being raw and out of my comfort zone.
For as long as I can remember, I have lived my life making sure everyone else was okay. Making sure they have what they need and want. Make sure they felt loved, seen, heard and safe.
Their needs came first.Their happiness came first. Their heartbreaks became mine to carry.
I became the person everyone called when life fell apart. The one they leaned on in their darkest moments. The one they celebrated with in their brightest ones. I gave my time, my energy, my heart—over and over again—because helping people became as natural as breathing.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself what I needed.
I was only sixteen when I became a wife and a mother. While I was still figuring out how to be a teenager, I was already learning how to take care of everyone else. I was a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter… then a wife, a mom, and eventually a grandmother.
Every role came with responsibilities.
Every role became my identity.
And somewhere beneath all of them… I disappeared.
Don’t misunderstand me—I have a beautiful life. I have a husband who has loved me more deeply than I ever thought another person could. He has stood beside me through every season of my life. I have children and grandchildren who mean everything to me.
I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
But when I strip away every title I’ve carried…
Who am I?
Not someone’s wife. Not someone’s mom.Not someone’s grandmother. Not someone’s daughter. Not the business owner. Not the person everyone depends on.
Just… me.
I honestly don’t know. Maybe I knew once and forgot. Or maybe I never had the chance to find out.
People see me as someone with endless energy. I pour myself into others because lifting people up genuinely brings me joy. But what they don’t see is what happens when the day is over.
The house becomes quiet. My mind doesn’t. Every night I lie awake replaying my day, wondering if I could have been a better wife. A better mother. A better friend. A better business owner. A better guide for the people who walked into my shop looking for answers.
The thoughts never stop. Until I ask myself one question. “What do I need?”
And then… Silence.
Not because I have peace.
Because I have no answer.
I don’t know what fills my soul anymore.
I don’t know what makes me feel alive.
I don’t know who I am when no one needs something from me.
I’ve lost the love I once had for my own body. I’ve lost the excitement I used to find in life’s smallest moments. Somewhere between taking care of everyone else and surviving every season life threw at me, I stopped taking care of myself.
For years, I’ve carried guilt anytime I even thought about choosing me.
Why? Why does resting feel selfish?
Why does healing feel like something I have to earn? Why is it so much easier to love everyone else than it is to love myself?
Life is too short to keep asking those questions without searching for the answers.
When my mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness last year, something shifted inside me. It reminded me that tomorrow is never promised.
My husband saw it and knew I needed this journey.
In three short weeks, I’ll board a plane to Indonesia. Not for a vacation. Not to escape life. To find it. To find myself. To learn to love me again.
I chose somewhere so fu***ng far away that no one can call me to fix their problems. No one can lean on me. No one can expect me to carry their weight. For the first time in my life, the only person I’ll have to face……is me. There will be no husband beside me at the end of each day to help me process what I’m feeling. No familiar routine to hide behind. Just me. My thoughts. My fears. My wounds.
And hopefully… my healing.
I’ll walk through ancient temples. I’ll take part in release rituals. I’ll sit with Buddhist monks and priestesses. I’ll be doing so much shadow work. I’ll spend time in silence, in reflection, and in places that have held centuries of people searching for the very thing I’m searching for.
The woman I used to be.
Or maybe…
The woman I’ve never allowed myself to become. I don’t expect to come home perfect. Healing doesn’t work that way.
But I hope I come home remembering that I matter too. Because when I finally learn how to love myself again, I won’t love my family any less. I’ll love them even better.
I’ll be a better wife.
A better mother.
A better grandmother.
A better daughter.
Not because I finally gave everything I had…
But because I finally remembered to save something for myself.
