No matter how distant you may feel—whether you don’t speak often, or only see each other on rare occasions—there is an undeniable need for unity. True strength lies in knowing that, no matter what, you have each other's back. That no matter how far you’ve wandered, you can always come home—to a place that feels safe simply because it is.

When a hopeless love ends, the ache isn’t really about the person—it’s about the illusion. The dream that maybe, one day, they would choose us back. The story we told ourselves about what could be if only the timing, the courage, or the circumstances were different.

If we resist, life will eventually find a way to push us into it. Sometimes it shows up as the “dark night of the soul,” where everything that felt solid suddenly crumbles. You’re left standing there, stripped bare, wondering: Where do I even start?

It’s not in death that we find our loved ones, but in life — by being alive, by celebrating. Too often, we think connection with those who have passed belongs only to silence, mourning, or cemeteries. But memory lives in movement. It is in laughter, in shared meals, in the music they loved, and in the small rituals of daily life that their presence breathes again.

Sometimes we think we’re chasing our goals—until we realize they’re echoes of our parents’ hopes. Maybe it’s the career they never had, the country they never moved to, the life they once imagined but couldn’t live.

This is what I share with my clients. I help them cultivate trust in their healing journey. Not the rushed, “I want to feel better in an hour” kind — but the real kind. Healing is not a destination. It’s how you show up every day. It’s how you respond to relationships, challenges, life. Healing shows when you no longer react from your wounded inner child — but from your integrated adult self.