“New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” ~Lao Tzu

During the Great Recession I lost my business. And I was devastated.

My business partner and I built the company from an idea we were kicking around over wine into a thriving brand strategy agency. We had twenty employees. We had a cool studio office. We were winning creative awards competing against agencies many, many times our size. And then—slowly at first and then so, so fast—it was over.

I remember when I called time of death. We had yet another client come in and say they couldn’t pay us anymore. Not because they were going to a competitor, but because they were in financial trouble themselves.

We had already laid off all our employees except for our office manager. We had already reduced our own paychecks. We had one or two clients left, but it just wasn’t fun anymore. I couldn’t see the way forward. And I was exhausted.

I told my business partner that I needed to stop, and that we needed to shut it down. I was beyond sad. I was numb.

I would have looked for a job, but it was the Great Recession. No one was hiring. Luckily, my husband still had a job, so we were in better shape than many.

I tried to focus on my health by taking up tennis and playing golf. But I wasn’t motivated.

I tried getting more involved in the kid’s school. But I didn’t feel fulfilled.

I felt like I had no identity. I was embarrassed and ashamed even though every other agency I knew about had either closed or was struggling. 

I graduated from Duke University. I had an MBA. I was supposed to do great things. And yet, here I was with nothing to say when someone asked, “What do you do?”.

We spent a few weeks in California with my in-laws. The change of scenery helped a little. (My mother-in-law did not.)

I finally got around to taking the Meditation for Stress Relief program. That helped a little too.

Finally, about nine long months later I was playing golf with a friend who was an executive-in-residence at a nearby university, and her phone rang. It was her department chair wanting to know if she knew anyone who could teach entrepreneurship. She handed the phone to me, and a few meetings later, the job was mine—if I wanted it.

Now, I knew I knew lots about entrepreneurship. But teaching? Nada. Nothing.

And that wasn’t the career I had planned.

And, because it was an adjunct position, the pay wasn’t nearly enough to make it interesting.

I went round and round. Do I do it? Do I not do it? It’s not in the right direction. It doesn’t pay enough. That doesn’t move me forward. What if I don’t like it…… 

I was making my family and friends nuts with the indecision, and I had to work quickly because the new semester was only a month away.

What should I do. What should I do.

But the universe (and my golf buddy) had opened a door for me. So I took a deep breath, gathered all my courage, put my money concerns aside, and walked through.

Today I consider myself an educator first. Walking through that door connected me with my life’s purpose. I am a teacher.

But before this all happened, the thought had never crossed my mind.

Becoming a professor (they brought me on full time after one semester) and figuring out how to TEACH entrepreneurship completely reframed the way I think about business. I couldn’t just tell my students “that’s how it works because I did it and it worked for me.” I had to be able to explain WHY. And find examples of each step working for other people.

Taking advantage of an opportunity I had never even considered opened up door after door and shaped the business I have today. Even though it initially looked like it was a complete detour from my career goals and the money in no way justified the decision.

If you find yourself at a crossroads—a career crossroads, a relationship crossroads, a financial crossroads— look around and see if there are any doors that might be open that you’re ignoring. Laser focus on a singular outcome can be a powerful motivator, but it also drastically reduces your options and can obscure other routes to success. It can be useful to remember that career/relationship/financial growth is almost never a straight line.

How will you know a door when you see one?

Someone asking you if you know someone who can do X. Maybe that person is you?

Maybe an organization you belong to is looking for workshop facilitators or volunteers? Maybe that person is you?

Maybe you hear about an opportunity to do something that scares you a little bit—an open mic night, a writer’s retreat, a community gathering on a local initiative. Maybe you go and say hello to the person sitting next to you?

And once you find that open door, here are a few things you might consider before you walk through:

Does the opportunity appeal to you other than it’s not in line with your stated goals?

In my case, I was absolutely intrigued about the opportunity to teach. It was scary because I wasn’t sure I’d be good at it. It was challenging because I hadn’t done it before. But I felt like it might be really fun. And fun counts.

Will you learn something and connect with new people?

As a lecturer in entrepreneurship, I would be developing an entirely new skill set. Additionally, I would have a chance to work with a large group of colleagues that would significantly expand my network.

What is the next best alternative?

For me, it was continuing to mope around and send resumes into the ether at a time when no one was hiring. Engaging in something, even if it wasn’t financially rewarding, gave me new energy and a much more positive perspective. And it led to the next opportunity to join the faculty full time and be compensated accordingly.

Sometimes the most transformative opportunities come disguised as detours or distractions. But when there’s a door that’s sitting open, consider walking through it and seeing what’s on the other side. It’s rarely irreversible, you will always learn something, and it might be EXACTLY what you were looking for all along.

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“Grief never ends … But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.” ~Unknown

“Thank you for letting me know.” The moment I hung up the phone, the tears came. I was confused and caught off guard. Why was I crying over the death of my ex-husband?

We’d separated six years ago. I had a new partner and hadn’t thought much about him in over three years. So why did his death hit me so hard?

Big Girls Don’t Cry

Growing up in Ireland, emotions weren’t something we talked about. Tears were for small children, not grown women. When I was upset, I’d hear the same phrase, “Big girls don’t cry.” It wasn’t meant to hurt me, but it stayed with me.

I learned to swallow my feelings. Anger, sadness, fear—those were things you kept private. I thought strength meant holding it all in. But as I grew older, that kind of strength felt heavy.

When my ex-husband died, all of it came rushing back. The sadness, the confusion, the guilt. And then the shame. Why couldn’t I just be stronger? Why couldn’t I pull myself together like I was supposed to?

Grief and Guilt Collide

I felt like I was failing. Crying didn’t just feel wrong—it felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of my upbringing, of the image I had of myself, and even of my current relationship. I couldn’t stop thinking: What if my partner saw me like this? Would he understand? Would he think I still loved my ex?

The guilt weighed on me. But so did the fear. I wanted to go to the funeral, but I was terrified. What would his family think if I showed up? Would they see my tears and think I didn’t deserve to grieve? Would they think I was pretending?

I wanted to hide. I wanted to run away from the emotions I wasn’t supposed to have. But this time, something inside me told me to stay.

Reaching Out for Support

I couldn’t carry it alone anymore. The grief, the guilt, the fear—it was all too much. For the first time in my life, I did something I’d always avoided. I reached out.

I called my mum.

At first, I hesitated. My instinct was to keep it together, to pretend I was fine. But the moment she picked up, the words spilled out. I told her everything. How lost I felt. How ashamed I was for crying. How afraid I was of what people would think if they saw me like this.

She didn’t say much at first. She just listened.

The Power of One Simple Truth

Then, when I finally stopped talking, she said something simple. “It’s okay to feel this, you know. You loved him once. That doesn’t just go away.”

Her words broke something open in me. I cried harder than I had in years, but for the first time, I didn’t feel alone in it. She stayed on the phone while I let it all out. She didn’t try to fix it or tell me to stop. She just stayed.

That moment was a turning point. I started to see that grief wasn’t something to fight against or hide from. It was something I had to let myself feel. And asking for support didn’t make me weak. If anything, it gave me strength.

Leaning on my mum helped me find my footing. I wasn’t over the loss—not even close—but I felt less trapped by it. For the first time, I could breathe again.

Facing My Fears at The Funeral

I arrived early at the church with my friend, my stomach in knots. The air felt heavy, like it knew I didn’t belong here—or at least, that’s what my mind kept telling me.

A car pulled in beside us, and my heart sank. It was his sister. Without thinking, I slumped down in the seat, silently pleading for the ground to swallow me whole. What am I doing here? I wasn’t sure I could face their grief. I wasn’t sure I could face my own.

But I’d come this far, and I couldn’t back out now.

Finding Unexpected Comfort

Dragging my feet, I walked toward the church door. Each step felt heavier than the last. I caught a glimpse of his brother standing near the entrance, and panic bubbled up in my chest. I almost turned and ran.

My friend, sensing my hesitation, gently squeezed my elbow. It was a small gesture, but it steadied me. I kept walking.

Then I saw her—his sister—standing at the church door. Her eyes locked with mine. There was no way out now. I braced myself, expecting a cold stare, a sharp word, maybe even outright anger.

Instead, she stepped forward. And then, before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me. The hug was warm and full of love. It broke down every wall I’d built up in my mind.

Finding Solace in Shared Memories

Inside, the service was simple and poignant. The priest spoke softly, and memories of our life together floated through my mind—some good, some hard, all real. As the coffin was carried out of the church, I felt the tears welling up again.

My friend placed an arm around my waist and gave me a little squeeze. For a moment, I considered pulling away, trying to summon that old stiff upper lip. Pretending I was fine. But I didn’t. I let the tears fall.

After the service, the family invited me for a drink. It was an Irish funeral, after all. I hesitated, unsure if I belonged in their circle of mourning, but their warmth melted my fear. As we shared stories about him—some that made us laugh, others that brought tears to our eyes—I realized something profound. We had all loved this man in our own ways, and in that moment, our shared grief united us.

Carrying the Sadness, Embracing the Joy

Leaving the funeral, I felt a strange mix of emotions. The heaviness of loss was still there, but so was something else—a sense of lightness, even relief.

The family’s kindness had reminded me of something I’d forgotten in my guilt and fear. I wasn’t just grieving a person; I was grieving a chapter of my life. My ex and I had shared 18 years together. Those years mattered. They shaped me into who I am today.

A Beautiful Realization About Love

At first, I struggled to reconcile those feelings with the love I have for my current partner. I worried that my grief might hurt him or make him feel less important. But over time, I realized something beautiful: love isn’t a competition. There’s space for both past and present love in my heart.

I still feel sad when I think about my ex. Some days, it sneaks up on me—a song he used to love, a random memory, or even a quiet moment when the world feels still. But I’ve learned that sadness doesn’t mean I’m stuck or broken. It’s just a part of healing, a reminder of the love we shared and the lessons we learned together.

Lessons Learned Through Grief

• Grief Has No Rules: It’s okay to mourn someone even if your relationship wasn’t perfect or ended long ago. Grief is deeply personal and unpredictable.
• Emotions Are Strength, Not Weakness: Feeling your emotions doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human. Suppressing them only makes the weight heavier.
• Ask for Support: You don’t have to carry grief alone. Lean on those who care for you and let them help lighten your burden.
• Grief and Growth Can Coexist: Mourning someone is also an opportunity to reflect on what that relationship taught you and how it shaped you.
• Healing Takes Time: There’s no timeline for healing. Be patient and gentle with yourself as you navigate the journey.

Grief isn’t something we “get over.” It’s something we carry with us, but over time, it becomes lighter. We make space for it, and in doing so, we make space for love, connection, and joy again.

If you’ve experienced grief, know that you’re not alone. Share your story in the comments below or reach out to someone who can support you. Sometimes, simply being heard can be the first step toward healing.

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“We often block our own blessings because we don’t feel inherently good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, or worthy enough. But you’re worthy because you are born and because you are here. Your being alive makes worthiness your birthright. You alone are enough.” ~Oprah Winfrey

When I was a little girl, I loved making cute drawings at school and gifting them to friends and family. I’d pour my heart into them, and at the end of the day, I’d rush home, all excited to give my treasured creations. I was such a happy kid! Always running and jumping up and down the street, noticing quirky details on the road and picking flowers to bring home.

This one, I made my mom a drawing. When I got home, I stood beside her, my eyes sparkling with anticipation, only to see her looking at it with disdain. She harshly criticized what she thought was badly drawn on paper and then tossed it in the trash. I looked at her, shocked and hurt, as she said: “What do you want me to say, that this drawing is beautiful? It isn’t.”

I wish I could say it was the first time I had an interaction like that, but the reality is that it happened again and again. So much so that I gave it a name: “not enough notes to the self.”

These are the moments when something happens that makes you start questioning your worth, and you begin internalizing that somehow, your being and whatever you do is not and will never be enough. If you have a few moments like these in your life, it may not leave so deep of a scar, but when the notes pile up, you start feeling differently about who you are.

You go from being purely and authentically you to shrinking into a mold of what’s expected of you, even if the mold keeps changing and becoming more demanding each time. You realize you’re damned if you do but also damned if you don’t, and without the right tools to escape the conundrum, you feel like you have no other option but to keep going in the hopes of someone seeing you and telling you that you are enough.

That’s what happened to me.

Too many events, people, and circumstances told me I wasn’t enough. And I believed it. So, I spent most of my life trying to prove I was.

I attempted to be the best at everything, with no room for error, because maybe if I were perfect, I would finally be enough. But no matter how hard I tried, the goalpost just kept moving.

Then, after years of healing from past traumas, I heard a voice inside me that said, “To the eyes of the Universe, you are enough.” And it clicked! It does not matter what the world says, I am enough, so there is no need to prove it! I always was.

I wish I could tell you I instantly embraced that thought. But by then, I had spent my whole life trying to prove myself, hiding behind a perfectionist facade, weighed down by anxiety and the need to please others, so it wasn’t easy to suddenly believe I was enough without all the trying and the masking.

I had to reflect deeply and ‘do the work’ to get my mind, body, and soul to align with this newfound truth. It was such a beautiful journey of self-love and acceptance, and I cannot wait to share it with you today so you too can realize the undeniable truth that you are enough, and always were, and free yourself to bask in the happiness of knowing. And achieve your goals and wildest dreams along the way without having ‘not-enough notes to the self’ blocking you from the life you’re meant to live.

Ready?

The first step I took was to dig deep into my mind to find all the ‘not enough notes to the self’ I had on repeat all these years. I looked back into my past and screened for the moments that made me believe I was not enough. I had many, and from time to time, new ones pop up in my head, but I softly smile at them, like when you encounter an old friend you still care about, but the friendship is over. No hate, only love from a distance.

Reflecting on these moments, I started to grasp why I felt so worthless. While you may know why you’re haunted by feelings of not being enough, seeing these moments reflected on paper or flying through your mind during meditation makes something click inside you. You just get it.

And I did. But getting it is one thing, and deprogramming years, decades of not-enoughness is another. That’s where step number two enters the chat: changing the belief that you are not enough.

Convincing myself I am enough was all about lovingly and repeatedly reminding myself of my enoughness as a birthright and showing it through actions as if parenting my inner child and undoing the parenting I received as a little girl. For that, I used daily affirmations and meditations where I would sit in the present moment and just be.

That allowed me to constantly get back to myself and the truth of who I am: a loving and lovable individual, no perfection needed.

I started asking powerful questions and practicing self-love. Notice I didn’t say, “I started loving myself.” Back then, I had no idea how to do that, so I just started practicing. I’d ask myself what I’d do if I loved myself. If I knew at my core that I was enough, who would I be? How would I behave?

This shift was life-changing, and it naturally led me to the next and sort of final step of the journey: to look at my surroundings and reevaluate my relationships. As I began to treat myself with more love and respect, I inevitably started noticing how other people treated me through a different lens.

As one should expect, when you believe that you are not enough, you tolerate certain situations and behaviors that are detrimental to your health and well-being. Embracing your enoughness leaves little room for that.

So, I went through a painful period of reevaluating, transforming, and even ending some unhealthy relationships. But in the process, I ended up creating space for true, loving, and respectful relationships that make me feel safe, worthy, and enough.

My list of ‘not enough notes to the self’ grew smaller. And as it did, my life expanded in ways I could’ve never imagined. But let’s get real: This is a lifelong journey, which is why there’s no definitive last step, just a powerful sort-of-last step.

The beauty of this process is that you can revisit it time and time again to reconnect with the undeniable truth that you are enough and create the beautiful life you deserve. One thing I can tell you for sure: It gets easier and more natural every time.

Remember, you are enough because you always were. Time to start walking and talking like it!

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Anyone who knows me well knows that I battled with food and my body for years.

I struggled with bulimia for over a decade, starting when I was twelve. My eating disorder was in many ways a coping mechanism in response to trauma, but early programming around food didn’t help.

I ate to soothe myself. I ate to stuff down my feelings. And as a bulimic, I ate to feel the control I felt when I was able to reverse the process of consumption.

Though I technically recovered in my early twenties, I spent many years after that sticking to only “good” foods—which, ironically, included foods that were highly processed and/or loaded with sugar because “good,” to me, meant low- or no-fat.

I found it hard to enjoy food until my mid-thirties because my diet was so restrictive and my fear around eating “bad” foods was so intense.

Now that I have a much healthier relationship with eating—and I see how profoundly this has affected my self-esteem and quality of life—I have a deep appreciation for those who help people find peace with food and their bodies.

That’s why I’m thrilled to introduce you to Jules Clancy’s work today (if you’re not already familiar).

She was one of the site’s earliest contributors close to fourteen years ago now, which makes it extra exciting to have her as a site sponsor this month.

She’s also a former food scientist turned health coach who has struggled with binge eating herself—so she not only understands what our bodies need to thrive; she gets the emotional struggle that compels so many of us to overeat.

If you’ve struggled with bingeing and restricting—and gaining and losing weight—I have a feeling you’ll appreciate her free webinar, The Secret to Changing Your Relationship with Food.

Or in full: The Secret to Changing Your Relationship with Food so you feel peace around food and weight and your clothes fit again for the long term (even if your self-belief is low after trying and failing so many times).

It’s short—just under a half-hour—but it’s also highly actionable. Though Jules also offers a paid program, the webinar itself could be the perfect jumpstart to healthier, more enjoyable eating.

I was pleased to recognize that I already do a lot of what she recommends (and, in fact, I credit this approach to eating with saving my sanity and quite possibly my life). But I noticed some areas for improvement and appreciated the opportunity to reflect on the changes I might want to make to bring even more intention and pleasure to my diet.

If you love food but don’t love your current habits or your body, I highly recommend you sign up for this free training.

Jules’ authenticity, relatability, and expertise make her the perfect guide for anyone who wants to boost their health and feel good in their skin without sacrificing the pleasure of eating.

If you’d like to get instant access to the free training, you can sign up here.

I hope it’s helpful to you!

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“Sit with it. Instead of drinking it away, smoking it away, sleeping it away, eating it away, or running from it. Just sit with it. Healing happens by feeling.” ~Unknown

I had no idea I had so many feelings until four years ago. I became sober and immediately started overflowing with emotions—emotions I never knew I had.

I stopped drinking just over a month after my twenty-fifth birthday, in January of 2021. I drank a lot in college, often going out Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights every week. Once I graduated, though, my drinking mellowed. I was still going out, but paying for my own drinks (as opposed to the free flow of alcohol at a college party) forced me to drink less to save more.

Early in 2020, my drinking increased again due to being stuck inside while in an unpleasant living situation. By the end of 2020, though, I again wasn’t drinking much—maybe a glass of wine or two during the weekend. I was, however, smoking weed daily.

Cannabis, a substance used by many to calm their anxiety, did the opposite for me. Every day after work, I would sit on the front porch and smoke a joint—through rain, snow, anything. I loved the heady feeling of being high.

When I was high, I felt motivated to become a better person (that motivation, however, lacked follow-up action). I felt like a child again, seeing everything with wonder in my (droopy red) eyes.

While I enjoyed the effects of weed, I also felt my anxiety, an ever-present being in my psyche, slowly become more intense. One harrowing night, after being up for hours having panic attacks caused by both alcohol and weed, I made the decision to try sobriety.

I went into sobriety with no expectations. It was an experiment for me, although I had a hunch I was on the right path. Would not smoking help my mental health? Would quitting drinking lower my anxiety? I was about to find out.

I realized that something changes when you stop engaging with harmful substances, almost like a switch slowly flips the less mind-altering drugs are in your body. Things become clear, like taking off glasses you didn’t know you were wearing. You realize things and remember things, especially things you didn’t expect. Thoughts you had forgotten, memories you thought you blocked, trauma you thought you had released.

There’s something about the absence of anything mind-altering in the body that makes things abundantly transparent. In early sobriety, I discovered that the anxiety I thought I was healed from was only lying dormant.

I’ve had anxiety my entire life; some of my earliest memories are of being anxious. I remember starting kindergarten nervous that my peers would make fun of me for the way I chewed.

By January 2021, I thought I had my anxiety under control. I was on the same medication I had started nine years prior. I was going to therapy regularly. I was familiar with the feeling of butterflies taking over my stomach, the wash of heat or cold that would overtake me during a really anxious moment.

I did not, however, know how to manage my anxiety without any substances. The second I stopped smoking daily, it felt like all the suppressed anxiety came to haunt me. My legs were constantly bouncing. My stomach was constantly upset. My heart was constantly pounding. I couldn’t go a day without at least an hour of panic attacks.

I was terrified and confused, thinking to myself, Shouldn’t I be feeling better? I thought I moved past these intense feelings ages ago.

With time, my panic attacks became fewer and farther between. I learned to allow the feelings to flow through my body—my legs would eventually stop bouncing, my stomach would eventually feel normal, my heart would eventually return to its natural rhythm.

But I still unconsciously tried to find distractions. I drank caffeine, and I scrolled on social media. I read a pile of self-help books without taking any action. Just reading the book is enough to feel successful in self-improvement, right? But really, I was in the same place as I was pre-sobriety. The only difference was I was suppressing my feelings with social media instead of the bottle or a joint.

Then I woke up one day and recognized that social media was serving the same purpose as substances did. I would get up on the weekends feeling hungover, even though I hadn’t drank the night before. I had, however, scrolled TikTok for an hour.

Getting out of bed after bingeing social media feels like getting out of bed after bingeing alcohol. I had stopped using substances, but I hadn’t stopped doing everything I could to get away from experiencing everything happening inside me.

Once I had this realization, I tried, desperately, to process my emotions, to feel my feelings, but the lure of TikTok was so strong. I’d tell myself only five minutes but would be in the same position an hour later with a stiff neck, berating myself for bingeing TikTok yet again.

Escapism was screaming in my ear, and it was so, so easy to give in. Reaching for a phone takes a second; processing an emotion takes minutes. Which one is easier? Which one is more beneficial? Which one will make me feel better?

I was stuck in this cycle of wanting to be in touch with my feelings, of wanting to embrace life, but continually falling into the trap of one addiction or another because it’s Just. So. Easy.

Our phones were designed to suck us in and rewire our brains to use them to escape our lives. And no matter how much I recognize that and how much I want to be fully present every day, I can’t seem to stop trying to ignore my feelings.

Every day when I get home from work, I ‘decompress,’ using my thirty minutes of allotted TikTok time curled up on the couch. I do feel refreshed after, but I can’t help but think, how close are we to living in the spaceship from Wall-E? How soon will we all be so glued to technology we’ll be physically allergic to human emotion?

When there were talks of TikTok getting banned in the US, people were freaking out. Influencers who make their income on the app were posting videos on where else they could be found. People were revealing secrets—some influencers even admitted to building their platforms on lies.

When did we become so dependent on an app? How have we gone from dial-up internet to tiny computers in our pockets that we can use anytime, anywhere in the course of my lifetime? And why are social media apps designed like casinos—to give us little dopamine hits here and there to keep us engaged and addicted?

When I phrase it like that, social media can be easily seen as evil. However, social media has also done a lot of good.

I’ve used TikTok to find tips on managing anxiety, on curing migraines, and workouts.

People have donated the money they’ve made to good causes—to rebuilding Asheville after Hurricane Helene, to Planned Parenthood, and to buy school lunches for children.

Unknown authors, singers, and comedians have gained fans and recognition.

How can something that’s done so much good be so bad at the same time? How do we, as humans with pleasure-seeking brains, reconcile this dichotomy? I regularly have this conversation with my therapist, as I recognize how far I’ve come.

It took two years of sobriety for me to WANT to acknowledge my feelings. Although I had been in therapy on and off since I was a child, my therapy became much more effective post-sobriety.

I felt like I was on the fast track to healing, like before I had been dragging my feet with my therapist, and now we were running together like athletes. It still took a while, however, to turn away from escapism and embrace my inner world.

It’s taken another two years to start becoming aware of every time I turn to one of my vices. Life is so busy that it’s easy for me to go a week drinking caffeine every day, or extending my TikTok screen time for fifteen more minutes four times in a row.

It’s taken years of building knowledge of what makes me feel good (for real) and what makes me feel like substances used to—good for a moment, bad for a while.

I love reading, and I always feel refreshed after taking some time out of my day to read. Listening to music can always put me in a good mood. How long is it going to take for me to fully let go of technology, of dampening my emotions to avoid unpleasantness? Will I ever find peace?

Had someone told me four years ago I would be writing about the similarities between substances and social media, I would’ve laughed and said, “They’re both so fun; they make my life better!” But that’s addiction, isn’t it? Even if you don’t have “a problem,” looking to external sources for your happiness will always end in suffering.

Although sobriety hasn’t solved my desire to escape, I do feel a lot better than before, and I continue improving every day. Over time, I’ve learned to accept and sit with my emotions. I know that everything will pass, even the most unpleasant feelings.

Four years in, I finally understand that vices are a way to run away from feelings. I may never totally escape escapism, but as long as I continue trying to choose presence and awareness, that will have to be enough.

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