I Never Want To Be Who I Was A Year Ago

I never want to be who I was a year ago. Or the year before that. Or any other year than where I am right now.

Those versions of me were still figuring things out, still holding on, still afraid of what might happen if she lets go. But the truth is, change only feels scary when we’re clinging to someone we’re no longer meant to be.

When we start to understand why change is happening, it stops being something to fear and starts becoming something sacred. It’s the soul’s way of saying, you’re ready for more. More truth. More presence. More of who you really are.

A year ago, when I started this business, I didn’t know half of what I know now. I had the spark, but not yet the depth. I was passionate, but still learning what it meant to hold space for others and to honor what that space reflects back to me.

This past year has been full of lessons (some gentle, some sharp) and every single one has taught me how to see myself more clearly. I’ve come to understand what it really means to help others: it isn’t about doing the healing for them, but walking beside them as they remember how to meet themselves again.

I’ve learned what vulnerability actually feels like. Not as a weakness, but the courage to stay open when things get real. I’ve learned that strength isn’t loud; sometimes it’s the quiet breath that says, I’m still here.

And I’ve learned that growth doesn’t always look graceful. Sometimes it looks like tears, silence, or trying again. But every bit of it matters.

A year ago, I didn’t give myself the space to be as I am.

Now, I know that growth begins in the softness of allowing.

And I know a year from now, I’ll be saying this all over again: that I’m so grateful not to be who I am today. Because that will mean I’m still changing, still becoming, still brave enough to grow.

That, to me, is the real definition of abundance: the freedom to meet yourself again and again, each time a little more whole.

Every person I meet, in a class, a session, or even over a simple cup of tea, reminds me that we’re all just trying to be a little better. To love a little deeper. To see a little more light in ourselves and in each other.

That’s what makes this work so sacred.

And here’s the ironic part: I don’t want to be the person who convinces you to come see me or take part in what I offer. That decision should come from your heart, not my mouth.

But I do hope these words stir something in you:

A spark of courage

A gentle reminder

A quiet invitation to begin again

Because the world needs the gift of you — in all that you are, and all that you’re still becoming.

And if you ever need help finding the courage to be that version of you…

I’m here for it.