May —
you wild, relentless, brilliant month.
You were the first full month after I submitted my Master’s thesis.
The first month I truly wrote every single day —
not just content, but reflections, rituals, revelations — in full radical sensitivity.
You came just days after my 44th birthday.
And you did not hold back.
You brought joy.
You brought exhaustion.
You brought floods — of insight, of emotion, of possibility.
You brought truth. And I let it move through me.
There were days I felt unstoppable.
And nights I questioned everything.
But I stayed. I kept showing up. I kept writing.
That, in itself, was a quiet revolution.
You brought pain —
my father’s accident and surgery left a deep mark.
Nothing went quite as expected, and worry became a steady undertone.
But so did love. So did presence.
You cracked open my relationship.
Through conflict, yes. But also through healing.
Words that needed to be spoken were finally voiced.
Wounds met light.
And something softened.
I showed up differently for my children.
More attuned. Slower. More human.
We spent hours outdoors.
I listened more — not just to them, but to myself.
And then: Lisbon.
One radiant day at the Purpose & Meaning Summit.
One day — and yet it re-centered something in me.
Global hearts. Real questions. The kind of aliveness you can’t fake.
It helped me recalibrate what matters most.
I officially became a certified FACE Mental Coach.
With Klitschko Ventures — and a system that is everything I didn’t know I needed.
Practical, powerful, joyful.
Finally, a container where I can bring my Will Power to life — and structure my chaos with grace.
It’s not about becoming more.
It’s about becoming me, more clearly.
I also began casting nets for what’s next —
showing up at events, exploring the professorship path,
daring to say aloud what I’ve always known:
I am here to teach. To build bridges. To hold deep spaces for transformation.
And slowly —
my family came closer again.
My parents. My siblings.
There was no big breakthrough, but the field shifted.
And I’m deeply grateful.
Most days, I walked in nature.
Every single day, I looked up at the trees.
I spoke more slowly. I thought more gently.
I made decisions from a place of clarity.
Even when I chose indulgence — sugar, rest, retreat — I did it with full consent.
That, too, is power.
And now, as May bows out, I keep thinking of this line:
Don't chase. Don't beg.
What’s meant for you will arrive in its own time.
May reminded me that I don’t need to sprint.
I just need to stay open.
To keep listening.
To keep breathing.
To keep being radically, fiercely, sensitively me.
This month was a turning point.
A storm and a sanctuary.
A sacred, swirling invitation to trust deeper.
And now, June begins.
Not as a fresh start — but as a consolidation.
A space to integrate, to root, to rest into what I already know.
Let me walk slower now.
Let me honor what bloomed.
Let me move forward with humility, clarity, and a quiet kind of courage.
Because this — all of this — is the groundwork.
And I can feel it now, deep in my bones:
The next wave is already rising.