“The wound is where the Light enters you.” ~Rumi
On July 2, 2009, my life shifted forever with three words: “He is gone.”
At first, I thought my friend meant that my partner was on a camping trip, but she was conveying that he was gone for good.
My body reacted with a clenched stomach and a stopped breath as the truth settled in before my mind could process it. The man I adored above all was gone, and a part of me vanished as well.
My heart broke in an instant, and for the next fifteen years, I committed myself to piecing together what was left.
Even with my education in holistic medicine, psychology, and human services, no knowledge could shield me from trauma. I battled fifteen years of chronic PTSD that no textbook had prepared me for.
It wasn’t until I found out I was pregnant with my daughter that I started the healing process to become the mother I never had. She became a new reason for me to live.
Even with renewed hope, I pondered, “Who would I have become if I hadn’t experienced this break?” Had the trauma robbed me of a chance for a fresh beginning?
While rebuilding my existence, I often contemplated who I might have been without the pain. Observing other young women in their twenties, I envied their paths full of potential. Although I was in my thirties, I felt as though I had missed my chance, as if my history had put me at an irretrievable disadvantage.
How could I assist others when I hadn’t moved on from my grief, remained ensnared by anxiety and depression, and still tended to a shattered heart? How could I support others when my spirit was still in pain?
Over time, I recognized that aiding others doesn’t demand perfection or an immaculate past. It requires bravery to be authentic in each moment and to acknowledge our worth, even in our brokenness.
Beneath the mountains of unfinished chores, the laundry, the messy car, overdraft notices, and crumpled clothes, I retained my worth. I discovered that worth when I accepted vulnerability, revealing facets of myself that were rough and still searching for answers, still holding on to hope for recovery.
I began to consider whether my flaws and difficulties were essential to my journey, not just detours. Were the obstacles I perceived actually crucial lessons for my path and purpose?
Without the loss, trauma, and trials, would I have pursued inner growth? It doesn’t matter at this point, but now, on this healing journey, I realize that how we react to life’s trials makes all the difference.
Without intentional goals and fighting for something, I was slowly decaying by forgoing growth and healing. I was in a state of shutdown, unable to bear the weight of my experiences.
Through somatic breathwork, bodywork, yoga, and Ayurvedic practices, I discovered how to nurture the fragile, healing aspects of myself. They evolved into strength and wisdom, transforming from discomfort and shame to meaningful connections with others. Gradually, my suffering shifted from something I endured to something I transformed.
I once thought “he is gone” meant the end of my life too. Now, I understand that loss and hardship do not lessen our value;