My Journey of Healing and Transformation
A journey of
trusting the process,
healing deeply, and
rising into my own power.
Growing Up with Fear
When I was five, I temporarily lived in a boarding school while my parents stayed abroad. Being so young and far away from my family felt terrifying. The rushed goodbyes in the early mornings, surrounded by strangers, left me feeling confused and alone. The uncertainty of not knowing if—or when—they would return unsettled me deeply.
Though I learned a lot of life skills and independence in boarding school, they didn’t ease the constant, underlying worry that the people I loved could disappear at any moment. That worry took root early and shaped how I connected with others—planting the seeds of anxious attachment and a lasting fear of abandonment, rejection, and the unknown.
As I grew older, I found myself constantly trying to hold on to the people around me—doing whatever I could to keep them close. Without realizing it, I had become a people-pleaser, constantly scanning for what others needed, losing touch with myself in the process. I believed that keeping others happy was the only way to feel safe, be loved, and belong.
These fears and insecurities began to seep into my dating relationships. Red flags and boundaries meant nothing to me; the only thing that mattered was that the person stayed. I ignored my own needs, driven by a fear of not being enough. I believed that if I could just keep them happy, I’d finally feel worthy of love. In doing so, I often felt unseen, as though my own voice and desires didn’t matter.
My struggle deepened in my early twenties when concerns about my weight and appearance made me feel like I wasn’t 'good enough' by society’s standards. Fear of rejection took over, and I began to believe that losing weight could fix everything, that it was something I could control. The more weight I lost, the more confident I felt—even to the point where it became dangerous. I started measuring my worth by my weight. I fixated on weight loss as my way of coping. What started as a desire for validation turned into anorexia—an eating disorder that led me to restrict my food and push myself harder, hoping it would finally bring me the acceptance I needed.
A few years later, I developed health anxiety (hypochondria). I became obsessed with trying to control my health, constantly feeling like something was wrong with my body. I went for MRIs, CT scans, and blood tests, seeking reassurance and trying to control the outcome. But instead of finding peace, I spiraled deeper. Eventually, I started on anti-anxiety medication. It helped a bit, but the struggle didn’t go away.
I was stuck in patterns I didn’t know how to break—always trying to be enough, always chasing acceptance. I kept living in a victim mindset, feeling like life was always happening to me, not for me. What came easily to others, I had to chase. And no matter how hard I tried, it felt like I was always falling short.
From Rock Bottom to Realization
The journey toward understanding myself—beneath all the masks—began the day I hit rock bottom.
Up until then, I had managed to keep it all together—at least on the outside. The people-pleasing, the perfectionism, the constant need to be accepted—it looked like strength, but inside, I was barely holding it together. The pressure to always be “enough” became unbearable. My body was fragile from years of controlling my weight. My mind was loud with anxiety and fear. And then, everything just gave way.
I spiraled into a deep depression.
Nothing made sense anymore. I felt like I was drowning, and no one could see it. I was exhausted from holding everything in—from pretending I was okay when I wasn’t. The fear, the shame, the loneliness—it all became too heavy to carry.
I wanted connection so badly I was willing to lie to myself to keep it. I was afraid to lose people if I stood in my truth. So I overcompensated. I performed. I stayed small. I didn’t lose them because I was too much—I lost them because I refused to be real. My healing wasn’t about learning to keep people. It was about learning to keep myself. That hurt the most: wanting closeness, but not knowing how to receive it without fear getting in the way.
I could no longer ignore the patterns I was stuck in. The things I had spent years chasing—approval, control, love—weren’t giving me peace. I didn’t know what healing looked like yet, but I knew something had to change.
It wasn’t the moment everything got better—but it was the first time I stopped pretending I was okay. That’s when things slowly began to shift.
Choosing Myself
Once I stopped pretending I was fine, the next challenge was learning how to live differently.
It wasn’t just about understanding my pain—it was about changing how I showed up for myself, especially in the moments when fear still whispered the old stories: You’re not enough. You’ll be left. Stay small to stay safe.
Choosing myself meant setting boundaries, even when it made me uncomfortable. It meant saying no, even if it disappointed people. It meant letting go of relationships that felt one-sided or unsafe, even when I still wanted them to stay.
For someone who had built her identity around being needed and accepted, these choices felt excruciating—but also freeing. I started paying attention to my own needs too. I allowed myself to rest. To speak up. To take up space.
Some days were messy. Healing rarely felt graceful. But every time I chose to honor myself instead of abandoning myself, I reclaimed a little more of my power.
This wasn’t about becoming someone new—it was about finding the strength, clarity, and self-trust that had been hidden beneath the fear. That’s when I began to feel empowered from within—and slowly, I learned to flow with life instead of fighting it.