The Season That Shattered Me

A journey through trauma, grief, healing, and the quiet reconstruction of self.

Three years ago, my life & career looked so different…

I had a 6-figure coaching business, a top-rated podcast, and was a sought-after guest for other podcasts. I spoke on stages, led group programs and retreats, facilitated multiple ceremonies each week, and had a solid private client base. My content creation and online presence were consistent, and I honestly loved every minute of what I did.

On a personal level, I was preparing for pregnancy and had created a spacious life that could hold space for a new tiny human.

But things drastically changed…

Trauma hit, and the life and career I once had slipped through my fingertips. It was as if the rug was pulled out from beneath me, but I didn’t even know that I was standing on a rug.

From shock and PTSD to an unimaginable sense of grief and confusion, to severe hyper-vigilance that made it challenging to step out of the safety of our home… I let it all go.

Healing doesn’t always look like rising — it often begins with collapse.

I started slowly, by letting go of my group coaching program and teaching opportunities, then my podcast, ceremony work, and finally, most of my private clients. And with that, I let go of every shred of identity that I had left.

What followed was a nightmare of a journey. The trauma that I experienced in 2022 unearthed decades of trauma that I was unable to fully acknowledge in the past — familial trauma that I thought I had healed.

After spending Christmas with my family in 2024, I found myself in pieces, and it threw me off guard. After a couple of years of intensive therapy, I had finally reached a better place, where I was honoring healthy boundaries and feeling hopeful about life. Even my therapist had commented on how far I had come, from a catatonic state in 2023 to being present in my body again. But I woke up one morning, only a couple of days after returning home, feeling completely shattered, disconnected, and overwhelmed by an ocean of emotions.

My anxiety was palpable, making it difficult even to do the most mundane tasks, and I felt consumed by flashbacks of traumatic events. My grief intensified to the point where I no longer knew what I was grieving. I found myself in the deepest state of depression I had ever experienced, dreaming up ways to end my life and finding myself close to actually going through with it. I was on the brink of being checked into an inpatient treatment center.

It was a terrifying season for me, yet even more terrifying for my husband to witness. This wasn’t something he could fix — and that scared the shit out of him.

This was the darkest season of my life, even darker than my first dark night of the soul when I was in my early twenties — the first time I attempted to kiss death. And I believe the profound darkness of this season was due to the depth of awareness that I have cultivated throughout the years.

We often speak of ignorance as a bad thing, but sometimes ignorance works in our favor, protecting us from succumbing to the dark, which was my earlier experience. Now, in my forties, my self-awareness felt like punishment. Here I was, navigating the most challenging season of my life, dreaming up ways to die, and yet, I could not bring myself out of it. It was as if I were watching a movie of my life in slow motion, witnessing myself on the brink of death, screaming at the screen yet unable to hit pause.

What kind of coach am I if I can’t even save myself?
What did I do to end up here?
I should know better!
What’s the point of any of this?
I’m ruining my husband’s life.
I can’t do this anymore.

These were just some of the thoughts that would accompany my desire to end this life. My entire body felt weighed down with a blend of grief and shame, impacting my physical well-being. I went from being incredibly active and healthy to being plagued by mysterious health issues that no doctor or functional medicine practitioner could figure out. I was gaslit many times by medical professionals, specialists, practitioners, and friends, which triggered my gaslighting wound to the surface in ways that impeded my ability to connect with anyone socially. And to add to that, one of the health issues that I was and still am navigating is the decline of my cognitive health.

“I feel like I’m getting dumber.”

I often said this to my husband out of frustration because I had always considered myself intelligent, a quick learner, and a lifelong student. But here I was, barely able to hold my focus to read a single page in a book. Writing became increasingly challenging, which felt like another form of punishment.

What most people don’t know is that CPTSD affects memory and cognition, but I knew there was something else at play. There were moments when I would completely forget where I was when I was triggered or overwhelmed with emotions, which was scary as hell. I would forget what a ‘spatula’ was, or forget people’s names as I was speaking with them. I’d find myself walking around the house, forgetting what I was doing. This wasn’t the cute, funny type of forgetfulness — this was scary and dangerous, and left me feeling unsafe within my body because I could no longer trust myself.

By the end of December 2024, I felt as though I had reached the end of my life. I was done with the pain, suffering, and what felt like punishment. I had planned to rebuild my business in January, yet here I was, succumbed by darkness after what felt like a glimmer of light in this season of death.

The worst part about this was that the hits kept coming. From being gaslit and attacked by my former trusted facilitators and teachers, to projections from friends, to the nightmare of a legal journey for Leia (for more on that, click here) and ongoing health issues… Life continued to take its toll on me.

My therapist and my husband were concerned.

This was honestly the first time I saw fear in my husband’s eyes. My calm, cool, pragmatic husband looked scared, and that frightened me. Inpatient care felt like the necessary next step, so I began to research it with the support of my therapist, spoke to a few facilities, and didn’t feel safe. My hyper-vigilance and lack of trust in others were overwhelming.

After a few weeks of back and forth with a couple of facilities, I told my therapist that I couldn’t do it. We agreed on a three-month plan where I would completely stop working (up until this point, I was still serving a handful of private clients), double up on therapy sessions, and add in weekly acupuncture and craniosacral sessions. If I showed no signs of improvement by the three-month mark, I would check myself into an inpatient facility.

By this time, I hadn’t been working full-time for two and a half years, and had run out of savings — the money that I initially set aside for a maternity leave. My husband was already handling everything else, from our mortgage to our bills to our groceries, as well as the heavy legal fees for Leia’s case. He was stretched thin, mentally and emotionally, and I recognized this and did not wish to burden him further.

The thought of not working at all while simultaneously adding more therapy and holistic therapy sessions felt financially difficult. With the help of my therapist, I did what I never thought I would do… I went to one of the primary sources of my trauma for financial support — my dad — but I did so with clear boundaries, telling him only what I felt comfortable sharing, which was that I needed financial support so I could get the therapeutic support I needed to heal.

Some of you reading this may view this as a privilege, and I get it. Yet for those of you who have had to do this… You understand how challenging this is. Asking for this financial support filled me with dread and triggered so much of my past trauma to resurface. I feared the feeling of being indebted to my dad because nothing came for free — everything had strings attached. Being in the state I was in, I knew that a single string could take me down. But I felt like I was faced with only two options: ask for support or give up and let myself die.

So I asked, and I received, and I held clear boundaries. I attended weekly therapy/somatic experiencing, acupuncture, and craniosacral sessions. I distanced myself from anyone who would not or could not support me in this season of life, and I spent a lot of time in solitude, reflecting, processing, and integrating the most significant traumas of my life. For the first time in my life, I found myself stripped down to the very truth of my being—soft, tender, and humbled as fuck.

The identities that I once held onto for protection crumbled away, leaving behind a version of myself that I had yet to meet. And with that, the vision for my life and career shifted. Feeling a new vision emerge in my almost mid-forties is scary, especially with the uncertainty of my physical health.

What I know for certain is that there’s no way I could lead the life and career that I once led because I don’t have the capacity for that. Honestly, I often find myself wondering if I ever really did have the capacity for that former version of my life and everything I accomplished, or if I was simply reacting to the world due to my trauma.

I no longer crave the spotlight, and that includes maintaining a notable online presence. I recognize that part of this is due to the trauma and hyper-vigilance that I experienced, which involves being watched by people who are waiting for me to fuck up (to be clear, this is not a fear — this is my living experience)… but the other part of this comes from the version of me that is healing beyond my trauma.

What I crave now is a quieter life — one where I can spend my days writing, working in the presence of horses, serving clients privately, while continuing to engage in Seva (selfless service). I crave a slower, more intimate life where people don’t judge me by my social media following, and with friends who are there during all seasons of life. What I crave is a life of connection, depth, and love, and I wish this for my husband as well, for he is the one who has carried me through.

Three years ago, my life and career looked so different… but life happened, as it does, and everything changed. I am still grieving so much, and healing so much. I’m still working through the acceptance of not being a biological mother in this lifetime. I’m still navigating cognitive and physical health issues, as well as trauma, but I’m doing so with much more grace than ever before.

I had to let go of who I thought I was to become who I truly am.

I am so deeply humbled by life, having experienced just how quickly things (and people) can change, and having kissed death once again. Yet the one thing that has strengthened throughout this journey is my faith in God, knowing that I am led, every step of the way.

My future feels uncertain.
My health feels uncertain.
My business feels uncertain.

However, what I am certain of is the love between my husband and me, as well as our shared desire to create something better. I am certain that I am healing, and that ALL of this has had a beneficial and profound impact on who I am becoming. I am certain that my service to others will continue to deepen as a result of how I’ve chosen to heal. And honestly, that’s all I need.

I no longer feel a need to be in control of everything, and I recognize how that was a trauma response.

Moving forward, I am choosing to walk with intention while maintaining responsibility for my healing. I am allowing my life to take shape, anchored by the roots that I’ve planted through this journey. And while the old me would be overly concerned about what other people think and how they perceive my life now, I genuinely don’t give a fuck.

I am here, alive, and healing. I am doing my best to be present with it all and recognize the immense courage and bravery it’s taken for me to do this. I no longer need the validation of others, and instead, I am focused on leading a life and career that feels good, even if it doesn’t make sense to others.

As different as my life looks today, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Letting it all go was honestly the best thing I could have ever done for myself and my healing.

If you find yourself in a dark season, feeling the weight of life, and as if everything around you is coming apart… remember this:

When your life falls apart, it’s not the end—it’s the invitation.

This has been so much more than a rebirth or a rebuilding of my life. What I am experiencing now feels like an invitation into the life that I was meant to live. I am beginning to understand that I had to go through what I went through (and I am still going through) to gain the capacity to hold the fullness and richness of this life, and to be present with the full spectrum of being on such a vulnerable human journey. The life I thought I lost was never meant to hold the truth of who I am becoming… And I love who I am becoming.

#PotentTruth:
Sometimes the greatest act
of devotion is letting it all fall apart.

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With Gratitude,

P.S. Rather than attempt to perfect my writing as I am navigating a decline in my cognitive health, I am choosing to publish my writing as is. It may not be as crisp and clear as the writing in my book or my writing a couple of years ago, but it’s what I can currently offer, and I’m learning to be ok with that. Please share any insights in the comments below—I’d love to hear from you.

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