I’ve been feeling a little disoriented lately.
Not quite lost. Just… untethered. Like the direction I thought I was heading with this project has become unclear, and I’m lost in the fog trying to figure out what to do next. A part of me wants to keep pushing forward, to figure it out, and to make the vision clearer so I can keep moving forward with purpose. But I also recognize that this disorientation is part of the process.
And maybe that process is the whole point.
I Didn’t Set Out to Prescribe Anything
The purpose of this site was never to give out ready-made solutions. That’s not how real healing works. Not the kind that tries to reweave the broken strands of childhood by reaching into the dark shadow of the past. You can’t just say, “Here’s the meditation for this problem,” or “Eat this to get rid of that symptom.” That’s not how transformation happens.
What I wanted, and still want, is to help people realize what’s truly going on within as a result of their childhood experiences. To assist them in putting the pieces back together. To start the long, often slow, and often confusing journey back to being in alignment with their own hearts.
I can’t just give that to people like a pill, though. They have to figure it out for themselves. And to be honest… I do too.
The More I Learn, the Less I Want to Pretend I Know
As I’ve learned more about childhood complex trauma—and gone deeper into understanding myself—I’ve started to recognize more clearly where my limitations are. I’m not a guru. I don’t have a magic formula. And I don’t want to act like I do.
In fact, the more I try to force clarity, the less authentic this work feels.
So I’m trying something different: I’m letting myself be where I am. In this space between. In this time of not knowing. Of not being able to see the whole forest. And that could be what this next part of the trip is all about.
Because Maybe the Path Is the Content
Maybe the work isn’t about understanding everything before I share it.
The work might be about being honest about what it feels like to not know, and keep going anyway.
To talk from the fog.
To stay with the discomfort.
To honor the part of me that refuses to dispense simple solutions just to feel more certain.
Maybe this is also what healing looks like: trusting the process even when there isn’t a clear plan or a sure outcome. Just presence. Just heart. Just the guts to keep listening.
