I didn't find my way back by thinking harder.

My beginning again started with a betrayal I never saw coming. What followed wasn't a tidy recovery — it was a dark night of the soul. The kind where you don't recognize your own face, your body stops cooperating, and the life you built quietly stops fitting.

I was exhausted in a way sleep didn't touch. Inflamed. Anxious before I had a thought. And underneath it all, a sensitivity I'd spent decades apologizing for — the empath's habit of feeling everyone else's weather before her own.

What finally moved me wasn't more insight. It was working with the body: breath, gentle movement, energy, nourishment. Slowly, my nervous system learned that the danger had passed. And in that quiet, I began to remember who I was before the world told me who to be.

Then came the awakening — the part that surprised me most. Not a lightning bolt, but a steady returning. I trained in what had healed me so I could hand it to other women.