Joy. Intention. Fulfillment. These can feel like luxuries—or maybe like things that don’t matter, that can be set aside for another day, another time, even another life. Right now, with so many challenges swirling around, survival seems more pressing than asking what brings me joy, how am I living intentionally, and is my life as a whole filling my soul. As a highly sensitive person, it’s hard to hold onto these questions when grief, anxiety, and overwhelm feel like smoke engulfing me and I can’t see clearly. I feel like I’m drowning in my emotions, struggling to get out. I’m exhausted.
I’m at a point in my grief journey where I’m questioning what really matters. Watching someone you love on their deathbed will make you ask these questions. They are huge, insurmountable even. I look around and see others caught up in what now feels trivial to me. But I understand that they see these things as important—they haven’t had their entire perspective altered by tragedy, their beliefs scrambled, their priorities rearranged.
If, at the end of life, all that remains are the people around us, then what really matters? And what’s important to the person who is dying? My loved one wasn’t thinking about her job, her past mistakes—big or small. She wasn’t dwelling on the past; in those final moments, all that mattered was the present. I’ve never felt more present than I did sitting beside her. My mind, my heart, my everything was there with her. In the end, it’s about who remains. The relationships. The love. That was my experience.
Her last moments are forever ingrained in my heart. I’m questioning who I am now after this loss. I’m questioning if I’m truly happy, which is a huge, fucking question. I pushed it aside for a while because the answer, at first, was a hard no. For me, happiness isn’t about being upbeat all the time—that’s a temporary state. Happiness is a sense of joy woven into the core areas of my life. It’s about feeling intentional in my choices, feeling that my choices align with my true self. Happiness is a fullness in my heart, knowing whatever I’m doing fills my soul. Despite any challenges that arise I know I will be able to return to these foundational elements.
Alignment is a word that keeps coming up, and I resonate with it. Many things can change us, grow us, push us to become a new version of ourselves. It could be entering a new decade, taking on a new life role, or facing a health challenge. For me, grief was the catalyst. It was a feeling of misalignment, like something was off. More questions were coming up. Am I living as my authentic self? Am I doing what I genuinely want to do? And the answers were, not really. So, how do I get there?
For a long time, I resisted exploring these questions because I didn’t know how to find the answers, I didn’t know what I needed, and, more importantly, I wasn’t ready. But everything has its time. Images of the caterpillar in its cocoon started swirling in my mind—a creature going through immense transformation, even turning to ooze before emerging as a butterfly. This transformation, a lesson from nature, reminds me that struggle and growth are linked. I am definitely in that struggle, desperately trying to hold onto something to ground me. I don’t do well in liminal spaces. Not knowing feels so unsafe—a core feeling from childhood trauma. I need to know, because knowledge feels like safety. During ritual, I set the intention to open myself to finding answers. Not actively searching, but trusting that the answers I needed would come. And they did. Little synchronicities, signs, and serendipities have appeared, impossible to ignore.
This morning, a song I’ve heard on my playlist many times suddenly demanded my focus. I hadn’t paid attention to the lyrics until now. The Mountain is You by Chance Peña perfectly captured what I’m feeling. We often look outward for obstacles, for reasons we struggle, but sometimes the hardest journey is facing ourselves—our fears, insecurities, and unhelpful patterns. Recognizing ourselves as the “mountain” means we hold both the challenge and the power to overcome it. The song captures that delicate balance of struggle and strength, making the journey both relatable and deeply moving.
My own struggles have taken a toll on my nervous system. Being highly sensitive, I feel it in my core. My nervous system is highly activated, and all my natural and learned defenses are down. I’m more prone to feeling anxious, sad, and stuck in overwhelming thoughts. Challenges I used to bounce back from are weighing me down. My thoughts aren’t compassionate; they whisper that I should be stronger, and then guilt and shame set in. As a counsellor, there’s a misconception that we’re immune to challenges, but we’re human. Life’s challenges affect us too. And unfortunately, we don’t talk about this enough and are less likely to reach out for help for fear of judgment. And this is one reason having a trustworthy support system is critical.
My support system is helping me rebuild my foundation. Before I can do anything else, I need a solid base to build on. As someone who can get lost in her emotions, it’s invaluable to have people who can gently pull you out and help you see more clearly. They validate my feelings and help me see the next best step forward. When you’re lost in overwhelming emotions, even the simplest answers are hard to see. Sometimes, all it takes is someone else’s nudge to give yourself permission to take a day off, make the appointment, or engage in an activity that allows your body and mind to rest.
By Noticing We Become Aware of Our Needs
I’m on my climb up the mountain. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m slowly realizing I don’t need them all to feel safe. I just need to focus on what’s in front of me, one small step at a time. I’m practicing the art of noticing. Right now, simply becoming aware of what brings me feelings of joy, intention, and fulfillment is enough. When the time comes to act on these observations, I trust that I’ll know how to nurture and build upon them.
I notice who is supporting me. I notice I feel calm after a guided meditation. I notice I miss feeling lost in joy while doing something creative. I notice cleaning my home clears my mind. I notice my nervous system rests after a massage. I notice my muscles soften on a heating pad. I notice I feel present when I’m petting my bunnies. And as I write this, I notice how much I missed the catharsis of writing—a comfort I’ve known since childhood.
By noticing, I’m becoming aware of what I need. I trust that alignment will come through this process.
So, as I climb, I’m facing my inner fears, uncertainties, and doubts in pursuit of joy, intention, and fulfillment; and recapturing self-love, resilience, and clarity along the way. With fall here and winter approaching, it feels aligned with the season’s invitation to slow down, look inward, and reflect. I believe I’m off to a good start.
Wishing you courage, strength, and love for your own climb.