New Beginnings

Today marks a special moment in my life. No, it’s not because it’s Halloween — although to some, it is certainly a day to celebrate with joy and reverence (myself included, and I do have a sweet tooth, so I don’t overlook the importance of candy here either!). Today is special to me because a new beginning that has been years in the making is finally taking form: my service as a shadow work, grief, and end-of-life coach.

It is hard to believe how different my life is now compared to just a year ago. Even though this path has been unfolding for many years, I’ve experienced a true growth spurt this year — one marked by painful and necessary growing pains.

I remember how my life used to be: I had a job in the corporate world, did volunteer work at a spiritual center, and enjoyed spending quality time with my family and friends when I could. It wasn’t necessarily a bad life — actually, around this time, I was about to go on a Disney cruise to Mexico with my husband! Still, I often felt something was missing — a drive, a purpose, a deeper joy and curiosity for life. I was comfortable and grateful for all I had, especially after enduring years of hardships, but something within me still longed for more.

Sometimes I would pay a quiet visit to the corner of my mind where unfulfilled ideas lingered — hauntingly, yet comfortingly — as if, by doing so, I could feel what it might be like if they ever became real. Perhaps it was a form of escapism. And yet, in those moments — in the comfort and safety only fantasies can provide — I would get fleeting glimpses of the life my soul longed to live.

For a while, the short bursts of escapism I found in those fantasies were enough to keep my soul from stirring. The crumbs were just sufficient to keep it distracted, and when combined with the comfort of everyday life, I convinced myself I didn’t really have a reason to change anything — right? Why risk losing the life I had by pursuing a “pipe dream”? “It would be foolish, really,” I would think. “Things are good, and I know how bad they could be, so it would be foolish for me to mess things up for the potential of a different life.”

The truth is, the life I was living was not in alignment with my true self. That isn’t surprising, though — I wasn’t in touch with my true self. But my soul…my soul would stir, faintly, almost as it could hear the whispers of life inviting me to take the next step, patiently waiting. Yet, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Something was paralyzing me.

Eventually the internal discomfort grew strong enough to make me question certain thoughts, and through that, I began to see a pattern. I would pursue something I deeply wanted, but at the first challenge, I would give up. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even make it that far — the idea would be conceived, but no movement to bring it to life would follow. And so, that quiet corner of my mind became a graveyard of potential.

One of the most poignant times I remember this pattern playing out was during college. After some time of exploration, I had decided to declare my major: Psychology. It was a subject I had always been deeply interested in and that resonated with me. I remember how much I enjoyed the classes — the more I studied, the more I wanted to delve deeper. I could see all the possibilities I could offer, and most of all, I could feel how vibrant my soul felt.

Unfortunately, part of the requirement was completing a pre-calculus course — my old nemesis from high school. In fact, pre-calculus had been such a source of frustration for me that I decided to get my GED at the beginning of my senior year just to avoid it (yes, the pattern was already there). There were options, of course. I could have put in the extra effort, studied harder, gotten a tutor and worked through that hurdle. I could have continued pursuing what I wanted and embraced the growth that comes through discomfort. But instead, I took the easier route and switched to a major that didn’t require any math courses: Asian Studies.

Don’t get me wrong — I was genuinely interested in that subject and thoroughly enjoyed the process. But it wasn’t what my soul was drawn to. It didn’t spark that same sense of aliveness or possibility. And so, after graduating, unsure of what to do next, I ended up working as a bagger at a supermarket.

Coming back to about a year ago — even though I had started questioning some of my thoughts, I still wasn’t taking any action. Until finally, life had enough of waiting and tightened the noose around my neck. At work, a new supervisor joined my team, and I couldn’t adjust to her style. The already fragile sense of security I had was abruptly replaced by a growing sense of impending doom.

I was faced with the very real possibility of losing my job. I panicked! “I have nothing to fall on”, I would think. My husband is on disability, and I didn’t believe I had much going for me to find another job that could offer the same pay and benefits. I could no longer pursue my license as a therapist — another time I fell back in the pattern — and I wasn’t sure how to build a résumé from the experience I had gained there in such a loosely defined role. Honestly, I was also just done with corporate world and didn’t see the point of getting another job where my soul wasn’t in it.

In that discomfort, I felt the familiar pull to fall back into that ever-persistent pattern. “Perhaps I could go back to working at a supermarket for a while”, I would think. “Maybe I could get into real state — it might not require as much work.” In that moment, I was standing at a threshold: continue repeating the pattern or make the necessary changes — internally and externally — and walk toward the unknown.

From looking back at all the times I’d repeated that pattern, I came to one conclusion: it never really solved anything — it only just postponed the issue. Eventually, I would always end up in the same place, faced with another challenge that required me to try harder in order for me to grow and expand. By allowing the pattern to continue, I would continue to walk in circles.

Also, since I had begun doing shadow work intentionally a couple of years earlier, I was better able to pause and observe my thoughts and feelings. Not only that, but I could also look within — with honesty and compassion — and ask the hard, uncomfortable questions that would help me understand what lay behind that pattern. And eventually, I did. It was fear. Fear of putting in the effort. Fear of getting others to believe in me — and of getting myself to believe that I could achieve and become more. Fear of trying, only to fail. Of confirming the story I carried within me — that I would never amount to anything.

With that awareness, I was finally able to make a conscious decision to pursue a path I had long abandoned — one in alignment with my soul. While completing my MA a few years earlier, I did my practicum at a hospice and fell in love with the work. I knew then that I wanted to return to this line of service one day. Combined with my love for psychology, my connection to shadow work, and an intuition I had received years before to become a coach, I felt a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. This time, I was determined to do whatever it took to make it happen.

And so, here we are today — October 31st, 2025. The day I officially open my doors of service to myself and to the world. The road has been arduous, and I don’t expect it to ease up any time soon. Yet my soul has never sung louder. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I’m no longer afraid — I am curious. Curious to see what happens. Curious to see how far I can go.

Wherever this path leads, I have more faith in myself now — and I don’t discount the help I have received from others along the way by saying that. But I have more faith in myself because once I became aware of the fear that was driving the pattern, I released myself from its chains and realigned with my true self.

From this experience, and many others I hope to share with you in time, I’ve learned that growth and transformation rarely — if ever — come from comfort. Sometimes, growth is born from discomfort, from a degree of pain that gives us the push, the motivation, and the energy to make the necessary changes. Still, without the hard work of looking within — with honesty and compassion — external change can only take us so far. That inner work, though often painful and difficult, is what prevents us, I believe, from falling back into the same old patterns, or into new ones shaped by the same root causes.

As I open this new chapter, I’m reminded that we all face moments like these — when the familiar no longer fits, and something deeper begins to stir. Perhaps you, too, are standing somewhere between what was and what’s next — a threshold — feeling both fear and possibility.

Wherever you are in your unfolding, may you meet yourself with patience, compassion, and curiosity — whether you find yourself in descent, or at new beginnings.