That particular January day, I went for a cold, rainy walk in my Seattle neighborhood. I needed to move the energy of sadness and upset that I was feeling, which is a common practice of mine when I feel overwhelmed. I move my body. My nervous system definitely needed it. I remember taking a selfie photo at the top of one of the hills in my neighborhood, tears streaming down my face. I was having an emotional breakdown. I was in a haze of victimhood, paralyzed with shame to call my mom or my friends for some sort of connection and comfort. They’d heard it all before.

I had abandoned my spiritual practice, as the suffering and helplessness seemed to suffocate my higher reasoning. I felt like I had to capture that particular moment in time because I had a brief feeling that I did not want to be on the planet any longer. The unresolved grief from the past and the disappointment of the present felt like a helpless future. It was a momentary lapse into a very dark place. The last few years have felt like a dark fog with bursts of rays of light and sunshine and then darkness again. “This was not how my life was supposed to turn out at this point on the journey,” I thought. “Why is this happening and how could life abandon me at this point when I’ve worked so hard to get here?”

From the years of trauma and grief — the ambiguous loss of a missing ex-boyfriend whose car went over a cliff and was never found, a friend's tragic murder in Oakland, CA just a week later, the passing of two stepfathers and multiple girlfriends from tragic accidents, multiple job losses, relationships ending, and the crumbling of my own fractured identity and business — the hope for light to return, for good news to arrive, or for an opportune path to unfold felt hopeless, even unfathomable.

The tipping point was 9 months of unemployment, 100’s of applications sent out with zero interviews or leads. I did not qualify for unemployment income because as a clergy member of my previous position, it is not offered or paid into if layoff occurs. I felt like a failure. I felt helpless. I tried to remind myself that it was just because I was being guided and redirected somewhere else. This or something better, right? But where? Where was the better?

It included the breakup of a relationship filled with unexpected subtle codependency and addiction. I had to be honest with myself and him about this dynamic that I no longer wanted to participate. And when it ended, he moved out of the country, which further exacerbated the loss, as it all felt so unknown, uncertain. Of course there were many gifts in our relationship. He was one of the first men I could fully co-regulate my nervous system with, and that felt incredibly comforting during this hard time. We provided safe space for one another to be in limbo together. We laughed and enjoyed each other, but I never felt I could trust that we would choose each other fully. I couldn’t see any real vision for a future together, unless some hard truths were faced to undo the unhealthy dynamic we found ourselves in.

Ultimately, I felt like we were enabling each other to stay small. My soul was yearning for something greater. I wanted more. It was comfortable. It didn’t mean the love and care wasn’t there, but sometimes we have to go our own way to grow into ourselves. It was one of those connections that I trusted that in time could re-orbit around much stronger in a new form. I thought, “Well, at least he was honest with me about his capacity.” But I still felt he was unwilling to tell the full truth to himself, and I could not compromise on that. It felt like a runaway train if I had stayed. Up until this point, most men I’d known just avoided and ran away all together from me, themselves, and the elephant sitting in the living room.

I made a commitment to not abandon myself this time. And I didn’t.