Since Thanksgiving, life has unfolded in unexpected and profound ways, weaving challenges that tested every part of my being. It began with a plan to lovingly support my sister through her hip replacement surgery—a simple outpatient. Armed with holistic tools, I was ready: lymphatic drainage massage, gua sha, essential oils, herbal teas, and a heart full of care.
And the Divine had other plans.
Post-surgical recovery didn’t go as expected, and we found ourselves navigating two unexpected nights in the hospital. My sister reacted to medications, and her path to healing turned jagged and steep. I switched into full caretaker mode, setting aside all other responsibilities to advocate for her care, hold space, and be by her side. My nervous system, fully activated, I did my best to hold space for myself, walking forward one step at a time, breath by breath.
In those moments, I trusted deeply in the wisdom within me—the lessons from years spent navigating hospitals as a patient myself. Every experience I’ve endured became a reservoir of strength. I reflected: what did I once need and never receive? What support could I offer her now that I longed for in my own past?
The small, sacred practices sustained me. As soon as we were moved into a private room, I diffused essential oils to calm and ground us both. Each time I massaged oils into her feet, I mirrored the care for myself, taking slow, intentional breaths. I grounded myself in nature, finding solace in a nearby park with old-growth trees (a nod to the divine timing of their presence). I let the Earth hold me.
These 72 hours were a strain on my body, mind, and spirit—a test of resilience. Finally, when we arrived at her home, the weight began to lift. I thought I’d reached the end of the storm. And then, a call from my eldest daughter, Rose, pulled me into another wave.
Rose was facing her own health struggles, a deeply triggering and emotional experience for us both. I won’t share the details—they are hers to hold—and I will say that my trauma, like hers, came alive in full force. I felt stretched to my limits, crying out to the Divine, “Enough. Please, I need space to integrate.”
In that moment, I reached for one of my greatest allies: tea. A blend of chamomile, catnip, lavender, and peppermint (my favorite, Calming Nights from The Spice & Tea Exchange), filled my cup and my spirit. Each sip became a prayer for trust, a deep breath of surrender. Even amidst the chaos, I knew this was for me, even if it was just a small light in this moment, I trusted. An invitation to heal, to listen, to find meaning in the shadows.
Returning to my sister’s care, I held space for her as she learned the art of receiving. Slowing down, trusting the process, and releasing the belief that her worth was tied to productivity. Her journey mirrored my own healing: a reminder to flow with life, not against it.
When I returned home, it was Rose’s turn. She rarely asks for help, and this time, she needed me. Together, we navigated her struggles with patience and care. I modeled what it means to hold space: to be present, to love without judgment, to simply listen. Rose’s resilience at 21 moved me to my core. At her age, I was a walking wound, drowning in unprocessed trauma. And here she is showing up for herself with strength and commitment, a reflection of her deep inner power.
Through it all, I tended to my nervous system as best I could. Tea rituals, meditation, journaling, breathwork, and quiet moments of stillness became my sanctuary. I leaned on my support network, reached out to trusted practitioners, and gave myself permission to say no to things that didn’t align with my capacity.
As I sit here now, reflecting on this journey, I am filled with gratitude. My sister is healing, discovering the beauty in slowing down and knowing her worth beyond doing. Rose is finding her way with courage and grace. And I am reminded, once again, that even in the most challenging times, there is a light—a glimmer of wisdom to guide the way forward.
Life happens for us, not to us. It invites us to heal, to trust, to grow. And even in the darkest moments, when all seems lost, there is magic to be found in the tiniest spark of hope.
