Trusting the Divine Path I'm On (Reflections on This Past Year and All Its Transformations)

Feathers

a poem

Have you ever walked

and held a feather in your hand?

Have you felt the way the air catches,

wanting to lift you

effortlessly

And suddenly, walking with your hand dancing upward

lifting, lifting, lifting lighter

you can sense the way a bird

launches effortlessly

the way it’s built into their very design,

the way that lift is the most natural thing they could possibly do— to take off.

If life isn’t taking off

is it because I’m lacking the trust

in my instinctive ability to soar?

Am I forgetting

the lightness

of my own wings?

Maybe we have something to learn from birds.

Their feathers do not resist.

They catch the air

and ride.

They float.

And what a gift,

what a tiny miracle,

to hold a feather in your hand

and feel the lightness of it,

the way the wind wants to pick it up without you even trying,

the buoyancy and freedom of that,

simply the way the air touches the feather.

As natural as the world.

As natural as the earth speaking,

the wind moving.

As natural as can be.

And yet we resist our own nature.

But maybe today, just for a moment,

I can be light as a feather,

and stay in my own trusting heart.

Flying even if it’s on fear,

even if it’s on doubt,

even if resistance is the wave.

Trusting and soaring,

and knowing it will all shift again soon.

Trusting My Path During a Year of Grief and Uncertainty

It’s been quite a year.

I’ve been sitting on so many thoughts, ideas, and things I want to say. I’ve been scribbling in notebooks, not sure how to talk publicly about how everything has unfolded.

But today I’m breaking the silence. First with a poem, because it felt beautiful to write.

And one of the things I’m really working on right now is re-establishing safety with my creative practice. Slowly over the last two years, I’ve lost my creative spark. I’ve burned out. I’ve spent more time supporting others with their creative practice than creating space for my own.

But I’m slowly re-establishing my own practice.

And giving myself grace along the way.

As for the last year, where do I start? That’s the question that has kept me from sharing—because I get stuck knowing how to even explain it all.

I’ve experienced a series of changes, disappointments, losses, endings, shifts, trauma, recovery, transformation, and growth.

I dove into the depths of hell a few different times.

And who I am now? Where am I now?

It’s sometimes felt like whiplash, but I’ve made it through.

Okay, so where to start this story?

Maybe with Bali.

In October 2025, I flew halfway around the world for a creative entrepreneurs’ retreat in Bali. I was stoked to spend a week immersed in a lush, beautiful place, thinking about my business and my next evolution as a person, leader, and entrepreneur. I spent six months preparing for the trip—doing coaching calls, visioning, clearing stuck energy, meditation, inner child healing.

I felt ready to both take a break from my regular work routine… and dream into how I could build more rest into my life.

At that point, I was two years into freelancing full-time as a writer, editor, and publishing coach. My business was growing, my clarity about where I wanted to go was evolving and flourishing, and I felt excited to treat myself to an experience balanced with rest, play, creativity, and planning.

I felt ready for an adventure. Seeing somewhere new. Traveling solo for the first time in years.

When I got to Bali, I relaxed at a fancy resort all by myself, exhausted from the travel.

I got a massage. I walked on the beach. I walked the grounds and stood in front of statues in reverence. I swam in the pool. I felt the feminine, grounded, earthy energy of Mama Bali.

But what I didn’t do? Protect my energy and heart before walking into the group environment of the retreat.

Or fully let myself realize how I was repressing a terrifying experience a few weeks prior.

My husband had had a massive panic attack that landed him in the ER four hours away from home. At which point I rushed to the car and drove all the way there, terrified of the worst possible outcomes.

Essentially, I was faced with the fear of what if I lost my husband? And without having fully moved through that, I hopped on a plane all alone, and flew away.

So with that experience still unprocessed, I left for Bali alone.

And those first few days, things were great (even though I was sleep-deprived and loopy from such a long travel, my longest travel experience to date).

When I met up with the group to start the retreat, things felt a little off, but I chalked it up to social anxiety and being tired. I felt out of place, just the slightest bit unwelcome after a weird check-in experience at the new hotel where we were staying, where everyone else received a welcome gift but mine was forgotten. I watched a lizard run around on the floor of my room, trying to settle in, shake it off, and be present.

We met for an opening ceremony at the beach. We shared intentions and released flowers into the waves, declaring what we were ready to let go of. I shared how I wanted to go with the flow, and let go of needing this trip to be perfect, how I wanted to let go of perfectionism in general. (The Universe took note of that one, I guess, and delivered me exactly the experience that would show me it was time to let go!)

Right away, standing on that beach in the sweltering heat, people from the group were sharing about intense experiences they were healing from. One woman said a friend had died by suicide. Others spoke of financial stress, wanting to let go, tell a new story, create a new reality.

I didn’t hold a clear boundary between their energy and mine. I was just trying to find my place in this new group.

That night, after visiting a temple with these wild and aggressive monkeys that felt a bit stressful to be around, riding in a hot and crowded bus through thick traffic, and doing another group circle where one woman had a total meltdown, I felt a massive wave of anxiety.

The place we visited had a pool, sauna, cold plunge, and fire pit and it was a “no phone zone.” We checked our phones in at the front desk and couldn’t get them until we were on the way out. Now, this might sound weird, but something about the combination of: 1) not being able to get to my phone and check in with my husband about how he was doing, 2) feeling like an outsider in the group, 3) not protecting my energy and closing off my aura from the blast of nasty, gunky energy being released, 4) not feeling safely held by the leaders of the group container, 5) finally processing the fear (literal fear of death) of losing my husband or having something be really wrong with his health… and 6) whatever else was at play, maybe the ley line energy of Bali…

All of that combined sent me into the biggest panic attack I’ve had in the last decade.

When I finally got back to my room, hours later than I would have liked to go to bed, I found myself hyperventilating in my room, crying hysterically, mostly unable to calm myself down for over an hour…

I video called my husband, tears streaming down my face, out of breath, completely confused about what was going on.

What is wrong with me? was the thought echoing in my head.

I had been looking forward to this trip so much! I was in paradise! Why was I falling apart?!

At the time, I hadn’t put it together, how the energetic dynamics of the group were affecting me.

I hadn’t realized, oh shit, that Balinese treatment I did where the practitioner put oils over my heart and released stuck energy and opened me up… that created a vortex of energy that I should have protected when I walked into the group…

As a highly sensitive person, I have to be really careful about who has access to my energy. And one thing I’ve been learning so much in the last decade of my healing journey, is how important boundaries are for me.

(This would be the first in a series of experiences about boundaries that have shaped me over the last year.)

Anyway, after thinking about how little I wanted to get back on that crowded bus and drive for three or four hours the next day, farther away from the airport, I made the decision to cut the trip short. I had the shittiest night’s sleep, let the retreat leaders know I needed to go, said an awkward goodbye, not feeling supported but clear that I was making the right decision for myself.

I spent the day alone in my hotel room, exhausted, waiting for that evening when I would fly home.

My mental health was not in a great place, but I managed the trip home, and took the rest of the week off for a staycation.

My biggest lesson? I didn’t need a transcendent experience or some other coach to show me what was important to me. What I needed more than a retreat was simply to slow down, be with myself, and trust my gut about my next steps in my business.

The quantum leap I kept asking the universe for… it would be delivered in ways I didn’t expect. And certainly not with the postcard-perfect beaches and jungles and waterfalls that I thought Bali would bring me.

Upon returning home, I slowed way down, at least for a little while.

I took walks by the creek, watching the leaves change color.

I journaled and walked the dogs, stayed cozy with my husband, wondered where this would all lead and why I had to go through that.

I didn’t realize December held more trauma just around the corner.

The week before Christmas, my husband relapsed.

We’re both in recovery and had spent all of our relationship up to that point in total sobriety.

For me, the experience brought up a lot of past trauma of the years I’d spent in a toxic relationship with a high-functioning alcoholic. I had more panic attacks, more sessions with my therapist feeling distraught, confused, scared, and unsafe.

Then, we made a (somewhat unwise) decision to get a puppy. We’d been planning on the puppy for a while, since before the relapse, but I didn’t really think hard enough about how this wasn’t the right time for such a big change. I didn’t realize at the time that my husband wanting a new dog was a cry for support, and a desire for comfort. I also, quite frankly, didn’t realize how much work it is to train a dog, since I’d never done it before!

And then our two older girl dogs started fighting as soon as the new puppy was in the house.

Not like little fights, but like, locking onto each other, terrifying fights.

Anxiety-inducing fights.

So a month after long nights of crying in the crate for crate training, cleaning up potty accidents, trying not to worry about how I was going to balance work and raising a dog and keeping my other two dogs from fighting… we decided to re-home the puppy. It was the best decision, but also heartbreaking—especially for my husband.

Over the course of the next few months, the relapse worsened.

Then, I got let go by a client of 5 years who suddenly fired me over email without explanation. It felt like a slap in the face. It felt like being totally discarded after making great contributions to a company for years, and being a part of an incredible team. I didn’t really have time or energy to grieve, though, because everything else was pressing in from all sides, too.

Another very lucrative gig fell apart, and I had to go through legal mediation and refund almost half of the project’s fee. Literally one of the most stressful career experiences of my life. Not to mention, it was a massive psychic attack.

One of our dogs got spayed and I helped her through the recovery.

My older dog needed an emergency vet visit for stomach issues, and for a second there, I thought it was the end. Yet again, another terrifying moment of being faced with the reality of death, and the fragility of life.

The relapse got worse again, and my husband went to treatment. Dropping him off was one of the saddest, most eye-opening experiences I’ve ever had. It was so raw and painful and awful, and yet filled with hope. I have so much gratitude that he wanted to go, and that I could be there for him and support him in that moment.

Recovery is also hard.

I lived alone for a month. It brought up all sorts of triggers from my past around hyper-independence, being the strong one, fear of loss.

My business slowed way down. I didn’t have the energy to create space for other people’s projects. I was exhausted.

My confidence tanked.

My energy was zapped.

I felt like I was hanging by a thread.

There’s so much more detail to this story—so many moments I could paint more fully, and maybe at some point I will share more of what’s been recorded in my journals.

But essentially, this past year (these past six months especially) have been tough. Tough for mental health, tough financially, tough to make sense of.

It has felt like a total reset. A pivot. A new beginning.

This period of my life has been filled with pain, but it has also had so many moments of pure, raw, unfiltered joy. Of truth. Of letting past repressed feelings bubble to the surface, be felt, and then letting them go.

The waters are getting clearer.

And some absolutely incredible things have come out of all of this.

A new job (more on that later). New and more aligned clients. Healing, depth, growth, and unconditional love in my marriage. Appreciation for the life we have and our ability to navigate change.

Things I don’t need falling away.

A return to simplicity and what really matters.

Rest.

A return to myself after realizing just how burned out I was, even before the Bali trip.

Getting back to basics, to what really matters.

More time with family. Visits with friends. Time in nature.

Fun dates. Relaxing time together, not feeling the need to try so hard or strive so much.

An ability to create better boundaries for myself, and to see what’s my responsibility and what isn’t.

Trust.

Trust in myself in new ways.

I said in 2025 that I wanted my words for the year to be abundance and self-trust. I asked for a quantum leap. And I certainly got it.

I am still in a space of finding myself… integrating all that’s happened… making sense of it, and also allowing myself to let go of my desire to make sense of it.

Life is so complex.

It’s layered and confusing at times. Profound change takes time to process. And here we are.

Holding onto hope… remembering our power and our worth.

Remembering that just like the feathers of a bird, we can be lifted up effortlessly if we stop resisting our natural way of being.

I’m sure I’ll have more to share in the months to come. If you’ve read this far, thank you for reading. It means a lot to me.

And if you’re struggling, I see you. I get it. You’re in it—but remember that this, too, is temporary.

Find some lightness. Find your natural ability to move on, to soar, to fly through life, and let go of the tight grip of control.

Much love,

Rachel

PS If you enjoyed this post, you might also like this Substack article I wrote about my trip to Bali: The Panic Attack in Bali that Boomeranged Me Back Home