Yet another quarter life melt-down.
What an emotional rollercoaster that is… me being human.
Feeling every possible emotion in my body like it’s an Olympic sport.
Torturing myself to experience them all at full intensity.
Anger → 100%,
Joy → 100%
Fear → 100%
Sadness → 100% *every 3mo
Triggered by the smallest things—an innocent question, a change of plans, accidentally spilling something. Wearing an attitude that my sisters would definitely call dramatic. Yet still resisting actually feeling my feelings. Afraid that if I let go, I’ll be too far gone to even recover. Because I don’t actually know how to repair matters of my mind and heart. Feeling helpless and hopeless.
Avoiding my feelings like small talk at a funeral. Now that I think about it, I have so many avoidant behaviors. Scrolling socials to escape uncomfortable emotions. Drinking to drown my ego. Ganja to flood my brain with more thoughts as distractions. Even intellectualizing my emotions is just another way to avoid actually feeling them.
The biggest trigger this week? Filming content. God, I hate it. Brings me so much anxiety. I am not a natural verbal yapper like the rest of the internet.
I’m an introvert. Often shy. Sometimes guarded. And the moment that little red recording light turns on, I freeze. Panic. Every word, every ounce of personality, every thought—gone. I’m left lifeless.
Unfortunately, our goldfish attention spans only consume video now.
So filming is unavoidable.
I know I have to market myself. Yet video relies entirely on knowing my voice—speaking like I do with friends, with all the inflections, gestures, and mess-ups. That comfort with myself is what makes it feel authentic. But capturing my natural presence in a way that isn’t too staged or forced? Impossible. The thought of any level of extraverted-ness gives me the ick. And I have to replay it over and over hearing my voice while editing the video!
I just want to a fly to document me being me—my personality, my natural behaviors. That shouldn’t be hard. But willingly vlogging? Feels like a big, hairy, audacious goal. One I’ve tried to talk myself out of for nearly a decade. Not everyone has Meghan Markle’s natural ease, playfulness, self-assured attitude, and refined essence.
And on top of that, how do you create a feeling of realness when you’re cringing at every little mouth movement, misunderstood mumble, or awkward chair shift?
Then I hit the darkest wall of all… Do I even deserve to speak out loud?
That thought sent me spiraling into a weekend of wallowing, self-pity, and self-deprecating tears. I would never talk to anyone else the way I talk to myself. It’s horrible.
And yet, I’ve built this confident persona. To survive in the corporate world. A version of me so detached at times that even I don’t recognize her. Cold. Mysterious. Hiding myself behind a steel guard so others don’t catch a whiff of my insecurities. Definitely not me in my truth.
So it’s not surprising that, deep down, my self-esteem is shockingly low. It’s time to shed these old identities that no longer serve me.
My biggest fear? Being fully exposed.
My deepest desire? Being fully seen and carefully heard.
The contrast is dizzying. It has followed me my entire life. The duality of my shadow and light overwhelms me with an innocent vulnerability. And yet, I’m still here—swinging addictively between complete self-love and complete self-loathing like an endless game of emotional ping-pong.
My lows are low.
My highs are high.
Not a middle way in sight.
I came to the realization that there are many answers in spirituality. From the middle way in Buddhist teachings by navigating life avoiding extremes so my emotions don’t dictate my actions for me. To the centering practices of meditation to remember that I am the center of a hurricane, still bight light amongst flying lawn chairs.
Coaches, therapists, gurus have told me for years that I need to meditate every day. That it will help with my anxiety and build up self esteem. That it will help me grow. I know it would help. And yet, I’ve comically resisted. Opting instead for active ashtanga yoga, marathon training, handstands, pilates—anything that forces me to focus my body but my mind still races.
I’ve tried guided meditations, but if I don’t like their voice or the intro, I check out. My mind races like a Formula One car, drifting into unfinished to-dos, last week’s conversations, sudden hunger pangs. Then I get frustrated for thinking at all.
If finding stillness for five minutes is this hard, how the hell am I supposed to do an hour of not thinking?
So… time for the annual wellbeing retreat in the tropics.
After an uncomfortable red-eye flight, I woke up in Bali, hunched over my bag, deliriously trying to find my way to Ubud. Lush layered rainforests, afternoon showers, charged spiritual energy. Ubud is medicine. Literally—the Balinese word ubad means medicine. A place where nature, culture, wellness, and community collide in a way that forces you to feel. And feeling, I’m realizing, is both the problem and the cure.
Time to feel my feelings
This coming week is spontaneously, last-minute packed—workshops, retreats, meditation, breathwork, yoga, sound meditations, massages, bath houses, temples, gurus, heart-opening activations. All these different healing modalities to see if I can finally shake this funk. To archive negative thought patterns. And establish a ritualistic stillness practice that feels honest and realistic for my everyday.
