Reaching Toward Self

As I sit with my thoughts today, it strikes me how deeply vulnerable this journey of healing truly is. Writing it down, letting the words spill from my mind to this page, feels both liberating and terrifying. The weight I’ve carried, the shame so deeply ingrained in my family dynamics, is finally starting to lift.

It's like shedding a skin I didn’t even realize I’d been suffocating under for so long. And with every piece I let go, there’s a strange lightness, an unfamiliar freedom. It’s as if, for the first time, I’m saying, “I don’t care anymore about what others think or expect from me.” That fear of being unloved or unseen if I didn’t mold myself to fit the world around me is loosening its grip, and while it’s freeing, it’s also unnerving.

Reconnecting with my truest self feels like uncharted territory. It’s not the smooth, effortless process I imagined. It’s clumsy, awkward, like a seed fighting its way through dense soil, unsure if it’ll ever reach the light. I never really stopped to ask myself, “Who am I, really?” I’ve always been what I needed to be for others, playing roles, giving fragments of myself that felt safe, but never the whole picture. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know if I could. The pieces of me felt too fragile, too risky to hand over. And so I kept my distance, not out of disinterest, but out of fear that if someone saw all of me, they’d turn away.

But in this process, I’ve begun to notice something unexpected. As I release the weight of needing to be loved for something I’m not, I’m not losing my care for others. Quite the opposite. I’m gaining a deeper understanding of people, their pain, their journeys. It’s strange, but by becoming more compassionate toward myself, I’m seeing others more clearly, realizing their actions often have nothing to do with me. It’s like I’m finally understanding what it means to love without fear, without conditions.

The analogy of a seed breaking through the soil keeps coming back to me. It’s a perfect metaphor for what this feels like. A seed doesn’t bloom without struggle; it has to break through the heavy earth, clawing its way toward the light. That’s the only way it can fulfill its purpose. And in the same way, we have to push through the weight of our lives; the pain, the fear, the expectations, to become who we’re truly meant to be. There’s no shortcut, no easy way around it. It’s painful, it’s exhausting, and it’s terrifying. But the alternative is to remain buried, to decay in the dark without ever realizing our divine potential.

I’ve spent enough time since 2020 buried, growing my roots, doing the inner work. Now, slowly starting this blog and sharing it with the world it is feeling like it’s the way I am pushing through. It’s daunting, but this first glimpse of light, finally breaking through the heavy soil, feels it is so worth the struggle.

That moment when the sun touches your face, when you realize you’ve made it, there’s nothing quite like it. It’s like the universe is saying, “You’re ready.”

For me, the cracks in my shell have softened. I’ve been nourished by the water of my self-care rituals, my IV therapy, setting boundaries, the cold plunges that shock my system back to life, and the shedding of old patterns that no longer serve me. And now, as I slowly push through the soil, I feel the light beginning to touch me, filling the spaces where darkness used to live.

There’s a deep sense of humility in this process, a gratitude for the struggle because it’s what makes the light feel so warm, so precious. I’m not rushing it; I’m letting the light bathe me slowly, gently, as I leave behind the safety of the darkness. I’m ready to bloom, but in my own time, in my own way.

And as I do, I remind myself and anyone else reading this, that it’s okay to feel awkward in the process. It’s okay to stumble, to feel unsure. Healing isn’t linear, and it’s not always pretty. But it’s real.

And it’s yours. So take your time, grow your roots, and when you’re ready, push through.

The light is waiting. ✨☥