It was 2011 when things were at their worst. I just remember being in survival mode. Christian was the one who said it was time to move. I never would have. I wasn’t capable of making a decision like that. When we moved, we got just enough of a jump start. I decided I would love a job doing accounting in a creative company. And guess what — I found that exact job — an accounting manager for a software development company. But all that did was allow me to see the writing on the wall. I couldn’t do this work anymore. I saw people working in those creative roles, while I sat in an office looking at numbers. So I gave my notice.

And that’s when it started. I was determined to fix whatever was wrong with me. Yoga, therapy, reading, spirituality, buddhism, mediation, coaching, more reading, journaling. I just took in so much information. And I made progress.

It’s been eight years now. I’m pretty proud of how far I’ve come. But I recently realized something. There was never anything wrong with me. There was nothing that needed to be fixed. I thought that there was. And that feeling of being wrong at my core? That feeling was the fuel. I’m not going to discount the work I’ve done. But now I can look back and see the energy behind the push was coming from a fucked up place. And I wonder how different things would have been if I had approached healing from a different perspective. But you can’t go back, right?

So now, I have put the brakes on this speeding tractor trailer truck carrying an overweight load down a mountain. There’s nothing more to learn. There’s no guru to follow. There’s no books to order. There’s no podcast to listen to. There’s no class to take. I have it all, already. I’m slowing down and listening to the voice that was here all along. And I’m taking good care of myself — my body, my mind and my soul.

Writer. Seeker. Noticer. Mom of humans and dogs. Wife of Christian. Writing every day about small things and big things.