Harbour in my storm

I've always been a chaser. I remember many late nights when I was seventeen, studying late, striving to reach my dream university. Worried that one bad mark would sink my dreams. Ambition was my fuel, but it came with a shadow: impossibly high standards and a fear of failure that gnawed at my core. No matter how hard I worked, I always felt behind, like I was sprinting toward a horizon that kept retreating.

Have you ever felt like you’re running on a treadmill, chasing a finish line that keeps moving? That’s where I was.

The storm

That feeling became a storm inside me. Picture a sailor lost at sea, waves crashing, compass spinning, no stars to guide the way. My mind churned with self-doubt and self-loathing. One night, hunched over a project I once loved, I froze, paralyzed by overthinking. The joy of the outdoors, once my refuge, had faded. Friends’ and family’s calls went unanswered. I struggled to find the energy to get up, a voice whispering, "I can’t do this anymore." My own mind had become my worst enemy.

False solutions

I tried everything to escape the storm… gratitude journals, self-help books, new jobs, a sabbatical in South America. Each felt like a flimsy raft, promising rescue but swallowed by the waves. The perfect lives on social media - promotions, travels, smiles - taunted my drifting ship. In Peru, under a starlit jungle sky, I drank ayahuasca, hoping for clarity. For a moment, I saw myself clearly, but the storm returned months later.

No matter where I went, I carried the same critical mind, the same whispers of "You’re not good enough." The waves forced me to face every buried emotion… shame, fear, all of it. Exhausted by chasing and sinking, I saw the truth: the only path to peace was through my own heart’s chaos.

The turning point

Transformation begins when you sink to a place too heavy to carry, where you must embrace every beautiful, messy, broken part of yourself. I sat with it, meditated, breathed through the discomfort, and chose to step out of my victim mindset. Those swirling thoughts of inadequacy stemmed from lack, lack of control, lack of accountability. I took responsibility, using breathwork, yoga, and journaling to release old traumas. It’s a simple choice, but a daily challenge.

Every day, I show up for myself, even on the hard days - especially then - in small ways. What if the deepest depths aren’t a grave but a foundation to rebuild, realigning with your values and purpose? I learned to meet myself with kindness, like an old friend braving the same storm. To accept every imperfect piece. That’s where the magic happens.

The most important lesson I have learned in my short time on this earth is this: Meet yourself where you’re at, with the kindness you’d show an old friend braving the same storm. Embrace every messy, imperfect piece of who you are, and be patient - transformation unfolds slowly, through daily acts of gentle courage. Healing is a slow, steady tide. Welcome every emotion, even the painful ones. Feel them fully, then let them pass. I remind myself that joy, the matriarch of all emotions, only arrives when every feeling - grief, shame, fear - is welcomed and held.

From here, reframe the harsh stories your mind spins. Silence the inner critic and question your thoughts, they’re not you, and they don’t always speak truth.

Coming home to yourself is like finding safe harbour after years at sea. The waters calm. The sky clears. And you step onto solid ground, not because the world has changed, but because you've found your anchor within. It’s always been there, waiting for you. Your own shore - within. Familiar. Forgiving. Whole.

I learned to steer my ship, not by fighting the storm, but by adjusting my sails, choosing kindness, patience, and small steps toward shore.

From this anchor, a dream was born: Aspasiana, my yoga, breathwork, and mindset coaching practice. Inspired by Aspasia, the wise woman who guided Socrates in secret, and pranayama, the breath of life, Aspasiana blends East and West to help others find their inner tools and resilience. It’s my invitation for you to come home to yourself.

The challenges persist, but I keep showing up. One morning, journaling as my coffee went cold, I scribbled, "I’m enough." For the first time, the words felt like a warm embrace, not a lie.

I don’t have it all figured out. But I know this: only when I slow down, tune in, and breathe through the noise do I find my safe haven, a place of love and compassion.

Start where you stand, with compassion. Today sit quietly for five minutes and name one part of yourself you cherish - your resilience, your compassion, even a scar that proves you’ve endured. That’s the anchor of your harbour.