The Month That Took Me Out — And What It Taught Me About Coming Back

#agency #selftrust #traumainformedhealing #emotionalmaturity #boundaries #selfrespect #healingjourney #personalpower #innerauthority #chooseyourself #spiritualgrowth #therapywisdom #nobullshithealing Jun 05, 2026

People often tell me that when I write from a vulnerable place, it helps them. I think it’s because it reminds them that therapists are human too — we don’t live above the mess, we live right in the middle of it. We break down, we get overwhelmed, we get bone‑tired, and we still have to find our way back to ourselves.

And lately? Life has been handing me wave after wave.

It started with something small — a broken toe. Not from class, not from sparring, not from anyone else — but from me practicing a kick for martial arts class at the gym, kicking a heavy bag too hard because I needed to get some frustration out. It seemed minor at first, but it throbbed for days. Still does, if I’m honest.

Then came two graduations — my daughter and my niece — beautiful, emotional, exhausting.

Then a retirement party for my mom.

Then the wasps.

My mom walked outside to plant flowers and was stung by twenty wasps. Twenty.

That turned into a heart episode. Which turned into a 911 call. Which turned into several days of monitoring.

And because she is a stubborn mule — and I say that with love — she insisted on doing graduation anyway because it was her last act as a school board member. So we did that. Then I rushed her back to the doctor on Tuesday for another heart episode. They ran tests, did a procedure, and I stayed with her. Stayed at her house. Stayed in caretaker mode.

By the time I went to martial arts Wednesday — not to breathe, not to find peace, but because I needed to hit something and move the stress out of my body — I was so exhausted I couldn’t think. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t put on my hakama for sword class. My kata felt sloppy. My brain felt like static. My body felt like it was moving through mud.

And I had this moment where I thought:

I haven’t had one second this entire month.

So what does any of this have to do with you?

Everything.

Because this is what life does. It stacks. It piles. It waves.

And the question is never, “How do I stop the waves?” The question is, How do I stay centered while they’re crashing?

How do I keep my breath when life is pulling at me from every direction? How do I stay human without losing myself? How do I honor my limits without abandoning the people I love?

Here’s what I’m learning — again, because life loves to reteach us what we think we’ve mastered:

You don’t stay centered by being perfect. You stay centered by being honest.

Honest about your exhaustion. Honest about your limits. Honest about the fact that you can be strong and still need rest. Honest that you can love people deeply and still feel overwhelmed by caring for them. Honest that you can be a therapist and still have days where you feel like you’re barely holding it together.

Centering yourself isn’t about calm. It’s about truth.

It’s about noticing when you’re slipping out of yourself and gently pulling yourself back.

It’s about saying, “I’m tired,” before your body screams it for you.

It’s about letting the wave move through you instead of pretending you’re made of stone.

And sometimes — like this month — it’s about admitting that you’re not centered at all. You’re just doing your best to stay upright.

But here’s the part that matters:

You can find your center again. Even after the chaos. Even after the caretaking. Even after the exhaustion. Even after the wave knocks you sideways.

You can return to yourself.

Not because life gets easier, but because you get better at listening to the quiet voice inside you that says:

Come back. You matter too. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to be human.

Last night, I finally stopped holding it together. I sat down, and I cried — a real cry, the kind that comes from the deepest part of you. Not because I was weak. Not because I was falling apart. But because I needed it.

And when it was over, I felt myself again. Not fully. Not perfectly. But enough.

Enough to breathe. Enough to stand. Enough to keep going without abandoning myself.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is let yourself feel the weight of everything you’ve been carrying — and then let some of it go.

That’s how we ride the waves. Not by being unshakable, but by being honest enough to come back to ourselves when life pulls us under.

Reflection Questions for Your Readers

Where in your life are you carrying more than you admit?
What wave are you trying to “push through” instead of acknowledging?
What would it look like to tell the truth about your limits?
Where do you need to return to yourself?
When was the last time you let yourself have a real, cleansing cry?

The Month That Took Me Out — And What It Taught Me About Coming Back

Reflection Questions for Your Readers

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