What did I learn today? Lessons on the Journey to Unconditional Self Love

  Michael Singer says, “The real spiritual work is to stop pushing uncomfortable experiences down—thus creating blockages—and instead let both new and old energy pass through, so the heart and mind can return to their natural state of peace.” Whew. That one met me where I live. I grew up around what we proudly called strong women. Women who pushed through disappointment, heartbreak, confusion—women who got things done. There was no room for feelings, no space for crying, no time for sitting with anything tender. You sorted it out and you moved on. Full stop. So of course, I became a strong woman too—by that definition. And for a long time, it worked. Or at least, I thought it did. Until it didn’t. There came a moment when life sat me down—hard. A moment when I couldn’t push through, couldn’t outrun the discomfort, couldn’t “figure it out” with my usual efficiency. I had to feel. I had to face the change. I had to sit in the messiness of my own emotions. And let me tell you, it flat...

  Affirmation: "I honor my inner critic as a protector, but I choose awareness and balance as my guides. I am safe, I am capable, and I allow my aliveness to shine through." The inner critic is clever. It’s a well‑honed self‑defense mechanism, designed to keep us safe from risk, disappointment, and rejection. In fact, it often rejects us before anyone else even gets the chance. But here’s the thing: when that voice is out of balance, it doesn’t just protect—it steals. It robs us of aliveness, of self‑expression, of connection. Over the past few months, I’ve been paying closer attention to the way I automatically speak to myself. Instead of letting the critic run wild, I pause and ask: • What are you protecting me from? • Am I safe in this moment? • Do I really want to do this and am just afraid? That pause has changed everything. It’s like opening a window in a stuffy room—suddenly there’s space, clarity, breath. I’ll be honest: many times I’m afraid of “looking stupid,...

  Every week, I drive to the beach. It’s not just a trip—it’s a ritual. A ritual that has healed me, stretched me, and reminded me of how magnificent nature is in all her glory. The confidence came first. Those narrow, steep, winding roads used to terrify me. But each drive became a quiet victory, proof that courage grows in the doing. The healing followed. Sunrise silence, the ocean’s endless horizon, the sheer beauty that only The Most High could create. I began to whisper to myself: If I come from the same Source as the ocean, then I must carry its qualities too. Imperfect, yet magnificent. Restless, yet divine. Three years later, rain or shine, I am there. The beach has become my mirror. Today, the ocean was wild. Waves crashed harder than I’ve ever seen. Where the river met the sea, the sand broke apart, the energy roared. At first, I thought: This is not inviting at all. Yet the water was warm, the sky cleared into a crisp blue, and a rainbow arched above me. Nature was loud,...

 “ Why are habits so important? They are, in essence, behavioral autopilot. They allow lots of good behaviors to happen without the Rider taking charge. Remember that the Rider’s self-control is exhaustible, so it’s a huge plus if some positive things can happen ‘free’ on autopilot.”  ― Chip Heath, Switch I love habits. Call me Madam Consistent. They free up my mind and create space for the lifestyle I want—the one I have intentionally shaped. Habits are the scaffolding of my days, the quiet rhythm that makes life feel steady. But here’s the paradox: habits can liberate, and they can imprison. The question I ask myself often is—are my habits keeping me rooted, or are they keeping me stuck? Do they give me freedom, or do they make me resist change? My habits are simple, yet powerful: I go to the beach every week, to walk, to watch the sunrise, to spend time with, by, and          in the water. I go to boxing during the week, a practice that combines...

Pour something in daily. However small, it compounds into trust. And trust allows us to rise.   Consistency is expensive. It demands time, energy, sacrifice, and discipline. But in return, it buys us the rarest currency—self-trust. And that trust is what allows us to rise. I learned this lesson the hard way. When I was studying to become an accountant, I believed I could cram the syllabus two weeks before the exam and sail through. After all, that formula had worked before. But this time, it didn’t. One of my lecturers said something that shifted everything: “You start with 100%, and every action you take—or don’t take—can minus marks.” That landed deeply. I realized that every day I chose not to study, I was subtracting from my own potential. So I started small. Ten minutes a day. Reading something daily, pouring something into my brain, no matter how little. That consistent pattern became the action that would not minus from that 100%. And it worked. I passed the exams—and contin...

  "Sometimes we have this idea that people have potential they’re not maximizing, and our goal in our relationship with them becomes getting them to see that potential. We want them to become what we think they should be. But here’s the thing: people have to see their own potential. They have to be able to see a way out of their circumstances, and we can’t do that for them. " — Nedra Glover Tawwab This quote resonates deeply with me. In both my professional and personal life, I’ve often found myself chasing after the shimmer of potential—believing that if I could just help someone see what I see, they would rise into it. Sometimes that belief has been a gift. Other times, it has blinded me to reality, to what is truly standing in front of me. The truth is sobering: potential is not enough. If someone doesn’t believe in it, doesn’t see it, or doesn’t want to realize it, there is nothing I can do. And the reverse is equally true—if others see something in me that I cannot yet g...

Affirmation: "I honor gratitude for what is, while courageously choosing more joy, more love, and more life for myself." December arrives with a question, carrying the weight of eleven months behind it and the promise of twelve more ahead. This month, my word is more. A tricky word, isn’t it? Because when the balance is off, “more” can become a restless hunger, a treadmill that never stops. We chase it, forgetting gratitude, forgetting presence, forgetting that enoughness is already here. But the “more” I am choosing this December is different. It is not about accumulation or striving. It is about shifting out of survival mode—the place I’ve lived in for much of this year—and remembering that joy can exist even in challenge. Survival mode doesn’t have to mean scarcity. It can hold laughter, memories, and moments of light. It can remind me that wanting more is not a betrayal of gratitude, but an expansion of it. So I ask myself: what is the intention behind “more”? Is it fear,...