I lost myself.
I lost my voice, my fierceness, my dripping passion.
I got caught in sticky, bullish*t questions like this:
Why am I so intense?
Why do I deserve to shine?
Why am I so goddamn sensitive?
What the f*ck right do I have to roar with confidence?
I’m no one. I’m nothing. I’m a pulsating black hole of worthlessness.
Yep, that’s what I’ve been saying to myself, daily, so cruelly, so matter-of-factly.
I got lost. I got stuck. I f*cked up.
It’s time to pick up the broken pieces and find the road again.
The best flashlight around is honesty—nothing illuminates darkness like truth.
So, here’s the shaky truth:
I’ve been afraid—deeply and profoundly afraid.
Afraid that I don’t deserve the beautiful things that are starting to bloom in my life.
Afraid that being myself is shameful, ugly and disgusting.
Afraid to bare my raw heart and own the terrifying depths of my vulnerability.
What are you afraid of?
What’s behind your lost-ness?
Maybe you don’t know right now—that’s perfectly beautiful, too.
Take your hand and hold it gently.
Close your eyes and offer yourself a huge bouquet of unwavering support.
Stand up—yes, even with shaky knees—and wash yourself in sweet rains of softness.
Caring for ourselves tenderly can be a map in itself.
So, I beg you—don’t beat yourself up.
We have to get lost sometimes.
Being lost can create a space of learning and reflection. It can force us to wander down paths we’ve always thirsted to explore.
And, sure, sometimes it’s just a giant f*ck up.
That can be delicious soul-food, too.
When you’re ready—pick up the broken pieces and find the road again.
Find the road again.
Find yourself again.
Take a deep, grounding breath.