Embracing You - Life Coaching

Somewhere between the infusions, the sleepless nights, and the relentless exhaustion, I found myself face to face with a darkness I thought I’d left behind.

The exhaustion isn’t normal tiredness.

It’s the kind that settles into your bones, your thoughts, your emotions. The kind that reaches places sleep can’t touch. The kind that makes you want to disconnected from yourself and allow that darkness to take you.

Lying awake, exhausted at a soul-deep level, knowing my body desperately needs rest but being unable to give it what it needs most. Watching the hours pass. Knowing morning is coming. Knowing I’ll have to wake up and carry the responsibilities, the appointments, the uncertainty, and the weight of it all once again.

That’s when the darkness gets louder.
Not because I want to disappear.
Not because I want to stop living.
But because I want relief.

Relief from the exhaustion.
Relief from the every poke.
Relief from daily responsibilities.
Relief from the uncertainty.

And that’s what makes darkness so dangerous.

It doesn’t always present itself as destruction. Sometimes it disguises itself as comfort.

It whispers that I could stop trying so hard. Stop feeling so much.

It invites me back into old patterns, old versions of myself, old ways of coping that I’ve spent years healing from.

The darkness offers relief. But it comes at a cost.

The cost is me.

The cost is disconnecting and going numb. And maybe that’s the hardest part of this sNeason.

So I’m learning to hold space for the exhaustion without surrendering to it. To honor how hard this is without letting it define me. To remember that this flare is something I’m moving through, not something I am.

And on the days when I struggle holding onto hope, I focus on something smaller.

The next breath.
The next hour.
The next step.

Because even when I can’t feel my strength, I know I’ve lived through enough to trust that it’s still there.

💙✨This past week, I’ve been focusing on rest and enjoying a trip that was planned over a year ago. I’m so grateful for this opportunity and for how perfectly timed it has been.

One thing this experience has reminded me of is that if you’re focusing on healing and regulating your nervous system, there’s something important to remember:

Your nervous system needs both rest and play.

Rest creates safety, restores energy, and supports healing.

Play brings joy, creativity, connection, and spontaneity. It reminds your nervous system that life is more than managing stress—it can also be enjoyed.

True resilience grows when your system experiences both recovery and delight.

Often the breakthrough isn’t found in doing more work on yourself. Often it’s found in finally giving yourself permission to rest, to play, and to fully receive the life that’s happening right in front of you.

Ways to give yourself rest and find ways play are in the comments.

Vulnerability isn’t just showing strength. Sometimes it’s admitting you’re overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, and barely holding yourself together.

There have been dark moments. Emotional crashes. Fear. Grief.
Moments/hours/days where I’ve felt unsupported, depleted, and stretched far beyond my limits.

I tried to carry it all quietly; the responsibilities, expectations, emotions, exhaustion — while still showing up for everyone else. Eventually, the weight became too heavy.

Even with all the healing, self-awareness, and tools I’ve learned, I reached a point where I couldn’t regulate my way through it anymore. Mentally, emotionally, physically… I was deeply exhausted.

And then it came out.

I lost my cool with my family. Anger. Hurt. Frustration. Tears. Slammed doors. Sharp words. Everything I had been trying to hold, feel, and regulate spilled out at once.

It wasn’t graceful.
It wasn’t pretty.
It was human.

But what mattered most was what happened after.

The honesty.
The accountability.
The hard conversations.
The repair.
The willingness to come back together after falling apart.

Because healing isn’t always love, light, and peace.

Sometimes healing looks like exhaustion, truth-telling, and finally allowing yourself to be human in all its imperfection and realness.

Keep living, keep moving even with uncertainty and when faced with unresolve.

There’s courage
In resting while you wait.
In laughing before certainty arrives.
In following through on the plans you made, even when part of you wants to freeze until everything makes sense.

I’m learning that uncertainty doesn’t mean life has to stop.

Sometimes resilience looks less like “holding it all together” and more like making the most of the moment you’re in, even while the future is unclear.

The answers will come when they come.
In the meantime, I still want to live fully, love my people well, and collect the memories that remind me life is happening now.

🧡✨🧡 You can be deeply grateful to be here and still terrified of what comes next.

Finished infusion acute therapy today. I’m bruised, depleted in ways I can’t fully explain, and still completely in awe of this body for carrying me through something so hard.

The unknowns are still here. More bloodwork. More waiting. More questions without timelines attached to them. That reality hasn’t changed just because treatment paused.

What I do know is this: I cannot disappear into myself the way I have before. I know too well what isolation can become when fear and exhaustion take over. So I’m fighting for small, human things right now — rest, laughter, movement, sunlight, play, connection. Not because everything is okay, but because I need reminders that life is still happening alongside all of this.

I’m also staying open. Alternative and holistic healing methods are absolutely on the table alongside traditional medicine, and I’m learning that healing can look far more expansive than I once believed.

Some days healing looks like endurance. Other days it looks like letting yourself feel alive for a few moments in the middle of uncertainty. Right now, I’m learning it has to be both. 🤍

—>Because a nervous system that never feels safe enough to slow down cannot fully heal.

Rest is not laziness.
Pausing is not weakness.
And constantly pushing through is not sustainable.

True rest is more than sleep or taking a day off.
It’s giving your body permission to unclench.
It’s feeling safe enough to breathe deeply again.
It’s allowing your mind to stop scanning for danger, pressure, expectations, and survival.

Real rest restores what chronic stress depletes:
- clarity
- emotional balance
- creativity
- patience
- energy
- connection to yourself

A regulated nervous system doesn’t just feel calmer — it functions better.
You think more clearly.
You respond instead of react.
Your body can finally focus on repair instead of protection.

Sometimes healing begins the moment we stop believing we have to earn rest.

You are allowed to rest before you break.
You are allowed to slow down without guilt.
And you do not have to prove your worth through exhaustion.

Whenever I felt hurt, sad, scared, disappointment or overwhelmed with grief, I would go inward and disappear. Sometimes I wouldn’t even let my spouse or family in.

Carrying it alone felt safer than being vulnerable.

I thought I was an open book; and I was until it involved real emotions. I stayed in my head. Talked about. Thought about it. Dissected it. And intellectualized it. It was safer in my head than being in my body, feeling it.

And I continued to isolate even from myself.

But isolating myself wasn’t healing me — it was keeping me stuck, dysregulated, on edge and disconnected from my body. The

I’m learning that healing doesn’t mean opening yourself to everyone. It means letting in the people who’ve earned your trust and create a real sense of safety for you to be vulnerable.

Building from there creates more capacity for yourself.

Maybe strength isn’t carrying everything alone after all. 🤍

The journey

Beyond the milestones and finish lines, the journey carries the real treasures — the wisdom gained through experience, the passion uncovered through persistence, and the meaning and purpose revealed along the way.

Sometimes the path brings you into a deep understanding of surrender — accepting what you cannot control and learning to trust even when the next step isn’t clear. And sometimes growth looks like pivoting, starting over, or allowing yourself to rest instead of forcing what no longer aligns.

For me, part of that journey has included divine help. And that has been its own gift — a reminder that grace shows up exactly when it’s needed most.

✨🤍In the end, the journey doesn’t just change your path… it changes you. ✨

If a space for support, encouragement, healing, and honest conversations along the journey speaks to you, let me know in the comments or send me a message.

I’m thinking about creating a support group for women walking through growth, transition, and becoming. 🤍