Personal Reflections
Hello Emotion, My Old Friend
Take your time here. You don’t need to read it all at once.
A collection of personal journal entries as I navigated a major life challenge—my deepest hope is that they resonate with you and offer comfort in dark days and long nights.
If you’re in a hard place right now, go gently.
You are not alone in this.
Agony
You feel like you’re drowning.
You feel like you’re in a tornado whirlpool of dust and dark.
You feel like you’re in a deep black hole.
There is no escape.
Just the agony of… desperation.
Overwhelm.
Too much to even begin to decipher what you’re feeling.
Just immense, heavy heaviness descending
with painful anguish.
You know you’ve felt better before.
You know you could think differently before.
You know there is the You—the omnipresent You that knows her way out.
But you can’t find her.
Something is stopping you from reaching out.
And even as you muster all your strength to lift your hand—
something gets in the way.
And you collapse again.
And again.
And again.
A rollercoaster of shame and regret and pain and sadness—
and then just a dull…
a dull, numb throbbing.
Somewhere it won’t hurt as much.
Somewhere the nervous system will shift to expansion—
even if only a molecule.
And I want to focus on that.
Shift to that.
Because I know I love life.
Even though I see and feel and know its cruelty,
and don’t understand why bad things happen,
and why the consciousness of this planet can feel so low—
and sometimes I feel so tired of it all—
I also know I love life.
I appreciate every breath.
There is beauty.
I have a family who treasures me.
I sense and absorb their love.
Which brings out the tears—
which I hate—
but now I know this is how relief starts.
And the pain and the dust and the agony flow out,
away,
into Papatuanuku,
and evaporate into the air.
Sadness --- Anger --- Surrender
And then sadness comes to visit.
Sadness in all her grief.
Sadness with all her tears.
Sadness that envelopes you in a mist
where you are ready to break and burst
and just don’t know anymore.
Not able to hold onto anything steadfast.
Life hits like a whirl and a spin.
The sun breaks through the cloud
and you have heard there is a silver lining.
You remember a voice saying it will soon be over—
and yet it’s not.
Another year of living with sorrow
and heartache
and headache.
And it feels like you’re being eaten alive.
Scorched alive.
Old familiar feelings of persecution and injustice—
it’s just unfair.
What is fair, in any case?
What did our souls come to learn
and to endure?
How do we know?
How do I find the magnificence of joy
and love
and living life again?
All I want to do is curl up in a ball.
Just leave me.
Don’t look at me.
Don’t connect with me.
It’s just too much.
Too much.
Too much.
And yet—
I need to drag one foot in front of the other,
drag my whole body,
dragging my heart, my gut, my soul.
I just don’t know.
How do I continue?
This is too much.
I cannot carry this weight any longer.
I simply cannot.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why is this happening?
What is the reason?
How do I hold space
when I cannot hold myself?
It is just too much.
What a game we play.
What a powerful river of emotions and sensations
that encompasses our being—
suffocating it like poison ivy.
How do we break and cut free from all this?
How do we remember that this is all an illusion?
Who cares—
what is it about others’ opinions, anyway?
Touch your heart.
Your arms.
Rub your legs.
Know that this is you.
T
hat you might just be enough…
Maybe.
Just maybe.
You’ve touched one other person’s heart.
Eased one other person’s sorrow or anger
for a moment in time.
Is that enough?
Is that worthy enough
to bring to this game of life?
To smile once.
To be with another.
To try.
All the should’ s and the rules and the manmade principles.
For fu^&%’ing what?!
I struggle.
I don’t cope.
I don’t manage anymore.
Are we coming close to surrender?
Is this the familiar path?
Again?
That the mind and the ego refuse to give up? Forever struggling and problem-solving?
Shall we just break open and surrender and give over - not give up - hand “it” over to a Higher source and a Higher knowing.
Because you, little human, cannot think yourself out of this…
cannot even feel or sense yourself out of this
And then—anger comes.
Oh, thank you, anger.
For this will fuel me,
power me to action,
drive me to draw a line in the sand—
and say:
No more.
Or at least…
enough to fight again.
Until the day I can walk away from this—
and wait…
Wait for the breath to come in.
To sit on the beach.
Feel the warmth of the sand beneath.
Feel my connection with Papatuanuku.
And to really… really let go.
To sink into,
and surrender into,
the Cosmos that gave me life.
Until then—
There is something here,
in this moment,
that I still need to learn.
That I still need to figure out.
Oh dear… no.
No figuring out.
Surrender.
Give over.
Hand over.
Hope
And then there is hope.
Maybe rest.
Some ease creeping back.
Silence.
No space.
Suspended.
As if underwater.
All slows down.
And when it’s safe,
you can turn inward,
and look outward,
and just stay.
Come and stay here.
Reminds me of Jesus’ words:
Almal wat oorlaai is, kom na My toe… na waters waar daar rus is
kom hier
kom sit hier
kom WEES hier
[“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29)]
Just be.
The beingness of all.
The beingness of nothingness.
Which holds potential.
Opportunity.
Growth.
A quiet sense that
you can live again.
Which brings me back
to hope.
Joy/ Gratitude
And then there is joy.
Gratitude.
For the love of a mother to her child—
timeless, priceless,
held forever in a single heartbeat.
Connecting with nature, feeling the sun on my skin, the wind brushing my face.
The chirping of birds, going about their daily, ordinary ways.
I am nature, forever connected.
A subtle bubbling of life re-emerges,
like a spring.
Orient. Look around.
Savour what is there, the richness in the simplicity.
In these moments, the heart remembers: it is alive.
It can feel. It can hope.
Ease
And then eventually…
It settles.
It comes to rest.
The racing thoughts ease.
The body softens, the shoulders drop.
Breathing lengthens, and you feel the gentle rise and fall of life inside you.
A pause. A stillness.
Sometimes briefly—
but over time
it accumulates.
Into a steady, flowing sense
that life is good.
Life is as it should be.
And you sense capacity.
Bravery.
Courage.
That you can hold it all.
Be with it all.
And now—
the reward,
the gift:
Growth.
Expansion.
And when collapse comes again,
you know—
Ride the wave.
It’s okay.
You’ve done it before.
You can do it again.
Victory.
And life is good.
Joy flows back.
Meaning flows back.
And you can love,
and live,
again.
This reflection is shared as emotional support and is not a substitute for therapy.
I share it because I believe that when I am open and vulnerable about my own journey through a very difficult period, others might feel seen, held, or inspired to keep going.
It is also a small window into who I am as a person and as a therapist, so you can sense the care, heart and perspective I bring to my work.