The Weight of Transformation

The Weight of Transformation

Introduction

Life has a way of nudging us toward truths we’re not ready to face. For years, I felt the universe pulling at me, whispering, sometimes shouting, that I needed to confront something deep within. It was disruptive, like a frequency I couldn’t tune out, jolting me awake to a reality I tried to suppress. This is my story—a journey of resilience, spiritual awakening, and healing. It’s messy, painful, beautiful, and above all, human. My hope is that by sharing this, others who are struggling might find a glimmer of hope in their own darkness.

Chapter 1: The Call to Acknowledge the Pain

It started with an unshakable feeling. For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a sense that I wouldn’t live past thirty. I remember standing in the middle school locker room, wearing my red sweats and light grey tee, thinking, “How can something feel so sure and real?” I laughed it off at the time, dismissing it as a silly thought, but the feeling lingered. It was like a shadow, always there, whispering.

As the years passed, this sense of foreboding turned into physical sensations. Episodes that began as anxiety attacks grew into something more. My body felt as though it was being tased, every cell drained of energy. Fatigue, stomach pain, shivers—it felt like my body was revolting against me. “What if this is it?” I’d wonder during the worst moments.

By the time I reached my late twenties, the episodes were impossible to ignore. One night, I lay in an Epsom salt bath, staring at my body. I was 103 pounds, the lowest weight I’d been since childhood. My ribs were visible, my skin pale, and my muscles weak. “How did I get here?” I asked myself. The bubbles didn’t even bother to bubble that night. It felt like the universe was daring me to look deeper.

Chapter 2: Roadblocks and Survival Mode

For years, I thought I could outrun the pain. I threw myself into work, family, and responsibilities. Clean, cook, work, crash, repeat. Survival mode became my default, a way to avoid confronting the growing chaos inside me.

In the military, this instinct served me well. I remember CSTX training, running on exhaustion and shin splints, paying for someone else’s mistake with extra push-ups and laps. You learned to suck it up and push through. That’s what we did. But outside the military, survival mode was slowly killing me.

At home, the juggling act continued. A teenager needed my attention. Three furry babies demanded playtime or else they’d destroy the house. There was work to do, school to finish, and a house to clean. I was running hundreds of mental tabs just to keep everything going. The chaos left little room to process what I’d been through—the trauma, the dark nights, the unspoken memories.

Chapter 3: The Cost of Struggles

Ignoring the pain came at a cost. Physically, my health deteriorated. Doctors’ visits became a source of dread, each one stripping away a little more dignity.

Mentally, I was breaking down. The past haunted me, especially the 13-year-old version of myself I couldn’t escape. I’d spent so much time fighting her—the angry, hurt girl who got into fights at school and carried shame she couldn’t name. It wasn’t until I started meditating that I realized I’d been lying to myself for years. I’d buried the pain so deep it began to poison me from the inside.

Emotionally, the weight of toxic environments and family struggles felt unbearable. Watching loved ones spiral into self-destruction while trying to protect the innocent was draining. I bit my tongue over and over, trying to save children from toxic cycles while knowing I couldn’t fix everything.

Chapter 4: Rock Bottom and Revelation

Rock bottom isn’t a single moment. It’s a series of losses that strip you bare until you have no choice but to confront yourself. For me, it was the realization that I’d lost touch with who I was. Every doctor’s visit, every degrading experience, left me feeling more broken. My body was weak, my spirit depleted, and my hope hanging by a thread.

But rock bottom is also where transformation begins. It’s where you stop running and start listening. For me, it was where I began to hear the faint whispers of something greater—a voice urging me to look within.

Chapter 5: The Healing Journey

Healing is messy. It’s not a straight path but a winding road filled with detours and surprises. I turned to meditation and alternative therapies, including practices that connected me to my spiritual core. Through these moments of stillness, I began to see the truth: healing isn’t just physical; it’s emotional and spiritual too.

Small victories became my proof of progress. Moments of clarity, a little more energy, a little less pain. Each step forward felt monumental, even if it was just getting out of bed without dread.

Chapter 6: Embracing Growth and Letting Go

Through prayer, self-love, and acceptance, I began to let go of the guilt and shame I’d carried for years. I forgave my younger self, the girl who fought and hurt and struggled to survive. I forgave others, too—those who hurt me and those I couldn’t save. Forgiveness became my pathway to freedom.

I started rebuilding my body, mind, and spirit. Diet changes, spiritual practices, and a focus on self-care helped me find balance. I learned to see life’s messiness as part of its beauty. Every mistake, every struggle, became a lesson.

Conclusion: A New Perspective

Life is painful, messy, and beautiful. It’s a series of lessons designed to teach us resilience, compassion, and gratitude. Looking back, I see the weight of my struggles not as a burden but as a gift. They shaped me, taught me, and brought me here—to a place of growth and healing.

I’m sharing this story because I know there are others out there carrying heavy loads, feeling like they’re drowning. To them, I say: you are not alone. The journey is hard, but it is also worth it. Transformation is possible. And it starts with the courage to face the weight of it all.