Real Change Takes Time: A Deep Reflection on Healing and Alignment

I don’t think I speak enough to what my experience actually was, how I got from being a diligent worker bee in the construction industry for almost a decade to walking the path of becoming a Spiritual Life Coach and writer, spending most of my days doing what I love, on my own time.

I don’t think people, myself included, truly understand what I went through to get to where I am now. And I’m not just talking about the burnout or the breakdown. I’m not just talking about the 60-hour weeks. I’m talking about the mental exhaustion and all of the little nuanced things happening behind the scenes that played a role in me finally recognizing that I needed to let that chapter of my life go. But also, finally recognizing that it was going to be a lot of work moving forward, and it wasn’t just going to happen overnight.

And it hasn’t happened overnight.

In fact, it’s been two years now, and it’s still a slow transitional process. But a lot of that is because of what took place leading up to me deciding enough was enough.

Looking back, it seems so linear. But at the time, when I started this journey, I was standing at the base of a mountain that seemed insurmountable in size, and yet I was still determined to climb it. From the outside, it probably appears as if I made the decision to quit my job and then instantaneously found myself on this new path. In some facets, if we were to look at the entire experience from a macrocosmic perspective, that theory would hold accurate. However, if we zoom in just a little bit, I could show you the last three years of surviving inside that job, where every week, every day, I was chipping a little bit more away at my own identity, my inner peace, my relationships.

There wasn't a trip or a vacation I took during those three years where I wasn’t answering client calls, responding to texts from my boss or employees, or putting out fires from a thousand miles away.

One of the greatest catalysts that would eventually affect this change was my own wedding. The universe had to strip my phone away from me in order for me to step away from the imbalance and be fully present to one of the greatest experiences of my life. To be present in that moment, in that space, with my partner and all of the people who love us.

But the situational repetition of immense imbalance didn’t stop there. In fact, it continued, until one morning, while on vacation at Disney for my mother’s 60th birthday, I awoke in an unbearable panic. I was sobbing, inconsolable, and it felt like there was this 3,000-pound weight sitting on my chest, holding me captive inside a life I no longer wanted to be a part of. A life that had slowly been stripping away everything I loved and found joy in for the better part of three years.

My husband held me and tried to console me. Every sob that wracked through my body, every fear that came tumbling out of my mouth as an excuse to keep me tethered to the life I desperately needed to be free from, I remember him just repeating that no matter what happened, we would figure it out. That I needed to look at the visceral proof in front of me of what it would cost if I didn’t release it.

And so I did.

In that moment, and in all the moments after, I began to release it. The first domino of the intricate pattern was pushed. And there I was: raw, but ready to accept each and every one as they fell before me.

When we came home from that trip, I started assessing and planning. I’m a planner by nature, it lives deep in my DNA and can never be extracted from me (no matter how often I’ve tried). I was the general manager of a company I had helped to build for nine years, and integrity is a core value I hold very closely.

So, after finally gaining the nerve to announce my plans and my predetermined fate, I gave my notice. And the next domino in the sequence fell.

I was slowly liberating myself from a situation I no longer belonged to. Over the next two months, I painstakingly extracted nearly a decade’s worth of information from my brain and laid it out across Word documents and spreadsheets.

Then my last day arrived, and in one blink, I found myself crossing the threshold of one existence, one life I had lived for so long, and stepping across into infinite possibility.

And that was fucking terrifying.

Exhilarating, but terrifying, like climbing the track of a rollercoaster right before the vast plummet into the unknown and uncertain expanse stretched before me. But I was already strapped in, so I figured I might as well ride it out to see where it was going to take me.

Oh, did it take me.

Another domino fell.

I took time. I took space. I slept well for the first time in ages. I nourished myself and danced in the sunshine. I dug my feet into the sand and plunged my hands into the soil. For the first time in, I don’t know how long, I spent careless and carefree moments with the people I loved, free from distraction or expectation.

I imagined. I experienced. I gathered myself into the spaces I loved to exist inside of and built sanctuaries by riverbeds, beneath the shade of evergreens, seated cross-legged atop picnic tables.

And I dreamed, in technicolor. Vividly and electrically.

I dreamt at night of messages laced in possibility, messages I had kept hidden from myself. Messages about the things I had forgotten I was capable of. I dreamt by day of the woman I was becoming, and how best I could honor her journey.

And another domino fell.

During that first year, and in all the time to follow, there was inexplicable magic, yes, but also so much chaos and confusion. So much doubt, questioning, and fear.

I worked my way through all of it, one domino and one step at a time. With every opportunity that presented itself, another obstacle, barrier, or limiting belief rose to meet it, barriers I had placed there myself.

It’s miraculous, the weights we place upon our own shoulders when we’re busy distracting ourselves from ourselves.

But now I was paying attention. And it was now my “job” to remove all of the limitations and restrictions that stood before me. So I dug deep. I analyzed my core beliefs and values. I took sideways glances at the way I spoke to, looked at, and thought about myself. I cultivated rituals and routines that brought me back to myself and sent sparks of bliss and joy back into my days.

You know those days in your teens or twenties when possibility just feels thick in the air? The temperature is perfect, your favorite mix CD is playing, and you're country cruising with the windows down on a random Tuesday in the middle of summer?

That’s the kind of energy I started feeling and believing in again.

The dominoes kept falling, one by one, in tandem with the steps I was taking to come home to myself. I hadn’t created anything for myself in so long. Sure, I created beautiful custom designs for a lot of people for a lot of years, but pure creation for the sake of creation? That’s something completely different. Creation for the sake of not being able to think about anything else until it’s been actualized into the physical (or digital) realm of existence.

Three months after leaving my job, I woke up from a dream that became the backbone of the plot for my first book. In the two years since, I’ve drafted outlines or flushed out ideas for six more. And I’m so grateful for the space I was given to receive these creations.

At the turn of the new year in 2024, I began the journey I find myself writing about in this blog post today, one in which I continually choose my path and my purpose. One that has brought grief and heartache, disappointment and fear (that I continue to work through and overcome), but also so much joy, fulfillment, and freedom to live and keep building the life of my wildest dreams.

Every domino along the way counts. Every step, no matter the direction, the distance, or the difficulty, every one is progress.

That progress, to me, has been immeasurable.

I look back at the girl falling apart at Disney World and now I see the woman she built herself up to be. And I know, she would still take every single step to make it here, to this moment, on this journey.

And I would look her dead in the eye and say:

“It’s going to be terrifying, but you’ve fucking got this.”