Coming Home to Myself

“I gave in continuously, with painful pleasure, to waves of unhappiness.”
— Elena Ferrante

Just over a year ago, I lost a parent — a loss that broke something deep within me. It was raw, disorienting, and more painful than I could ever have truly prepared for. My husband and I had been navigating the quiet heartbreak of fertility challenges and when we finally felt ready to try again earlier this year, I suffered an injury that required surgery, and I’m still in the process of recovery. At times, it has felt like one heartbreak after another.

I want to acknowledge that I’ve been incredibly fortunate — to have access to excellent healthcare, the time to rest, and a circle of love and support around me. That gratitude runs deep. But even with all of that, it has been a lot. Each experience on its own might have felt manageable — but together, one after the other, they’ve left me feeling worn thin.

Ayurveda teaches us that emotional strain and physical upheaval can unbalance Vata — the dosha that governs movement, the nervous system, and the subtle winds of thought and feeling. And in me, Vata has been in full storm. My emotions have surged: loneliness, tiredness, sadness, jealousy, anger — often without warning. And let’s not forget the hormones — they’ve made me feel utterly unhinged some days.

I have loosened my grip on discipline. I haven’t kept up with meditation or Ayurvedic meals. I have allowed myself to eat what I crave, sleep when I need to, and just be in survival mode. There has been guilt in that, but also a quiet kind of learning that sometimes nourishment comes not from rules, but from deep listening.

Ayurveda reminds us that healing is not a straight path. There are seasons of structure, and seasons of surrender. I’m learning to soften into where I am, instead of trying to force my way out of it. Acceptance, I’ve come to see, isn’t giving up — it’s an invitation to come home to ourselves, exactly as we are.

We are heading to Sardinia later this summer — a place I hold close to my heart. I’m looking forward to the sea, the stillness, the warmth of the island. A little space to breathe, to pause, and maybe to gather some energy for whatever comes next.

Thank you for still being here. I’m finding my way back — slowly, gently, and with as much grace as I can manage.