Whispers of Change
Did I really change on my own, or did I just get quiet enough to finally listen?
So, I’m back home in California now, in a bit of a limbo between the incredible fall semester and my next big adventure in Barcelona. I’m also feeling a bit in between selves right now. As much as my life has turned around since what we can call my 'Big Brain' moment—when fluid buildup literally made my brain too big for my head (feel free to laugh, I do)—I truly wonder if all these changes, this clarity, this renewed gratitude for life, started more because of an alignment with something bigger than mere internal determination.
A health challenge. A breakup. A new school. New friends. These catalysts launched me into immense growth, breaking barriers I didn’t even know existed. They inspired this blog, which is now reaching readers from 24 countries around the world (I don’t have enough happy tears to process this—AHH). But all of this makes me wonder: what am I capable of when I’m the one inviting the next challenge, instead of waiting for life to impose it on me?
In this winter season of natural stillness, where the world feels frozen and stagnant, coupled with the return of my 16-year-old nervous system (which reignites the moment I’m back in my childhood home), I’m starting to reflect. What am I about to bring into my life, and through what lens?
I touched on this in my From Seedling to Self entry, but the concept has deepened for me. What happens when we consciously plant seeds and water our gardens, rather than relying on external forces to rain on our lives? Many friends and I have talked about this lately—that feeling of knowing you’re about to really change, this time on your own merit. And with that comes the disconnection from the version of yourself who once felt like a victim of the world.
As much as I draw on my health crisis and last year’s challenges to share wisdom, I’ve realized that the longer I live in this new era of self, the harder it is to connect with what it felt like to be powerless and out of tune with myself. Which leads me to think:
Do we have to destroy the unaligned versions of ourselves to truly evolve completely? Do we have to forget what operating in that old, unbalanced way felt like?
Does a butterfly soar through the sky thinking about being a caterpillar confined to the ground? Or is it just like, thank God I can fly now and never looks back?
I can’t give myself all the credit for turning my life around—I recognize that larger forces were at play. And I’m okay with that. I welcome it.
People often ask me, “What did you do to prevent a brain diagnosis, depression, or hopelessness from taking over?"
My answer? I prayed, journaled, discovered Louise Hay, read 15 self-help books (embarrassment fades, trust me), and cut out anything that didn’t serve my highest self. But more than that and most importantly, I got quiet enough to listen. To trust.
How often do we hear that internal voice, the one that gets louder in moments of conflict or uncertainty? And how often do we try to drown it out with noise, distraction, or overthinking? Why is our instinct to get louder in the face of challenge, when deep down we know we’re not made to have all the answers?
Why don’t we listen?
Staring down the end of so many aspects I once associated with myself shook me. It scared me. It hurt me. But best of all, it made me present. Damn, it even made me an evolved Carrie Bradshaw. And when I say present, I mean it reminded me of the simplest, most profound truth: the only thing I am responsible for in this life is existing.
I am innately valuable. I cannot and will not gain anything by looking outside myself until I first look within. The mere fact that I exist—that I talk, feel, look, and experience life differently from anyone else—makes me a uniquely valuable part of humanity.
As long as I’m learning, I’m leaving the world more seen, understood, and cherished than before. I am always enough. And even when I’m rotting in bed, questioning the world, upset at its ill natures, mad at my shortcomings, I am more than enough. The world is still learning and correcting from my perspective.
So, there was no need for the voice that told me that good health wasn’t natural to me, that this was bad karma, or that I was weak. I filtered those thoughts, let only encouraging ones simmer, and challenged despair. In turn, my rational, logical brain—the part of me that loves creating problems to feel the satisfaction of solving them—became quieter. See, this is why we had to shrink the bitch. Bye, oversized brain pressure! What took its place was trust, love, and hope.
Trust in myself. Love for life. Hope in the greater good. I realized the answers are always around us. We just need to be quiet enough to hear them. Remind our brains that we are more than their survival patterns. We are butterflies, carrying the wisdom of a once-confined state and the gift of transformation. With each flutter of our wings, we create ripples—leaving all that we touch with our presence and beauty more in awe than we could ever imagine.