One Year Later…

The Lessons, the Glimmers, and Everything in Between

One year ago today, I walked away from everything — the city, the job, the love, and the rhythm of a life I had built brick by brick. I packed two suitcases, boarded a one-way flight, and woke up in Costa Rica.
Terrified.

Have you ever felt home and lost at the same time?

I wasn’t expecting this year to feel like a retreat to paradise, but I did underestimate how much of a reckoning it would be. Costa Rica wasn’t my escape — it was my mirror. It reflected everything I had buried under achievement, identity, and expectation. It stripped me bare and asked: Who are you, underneath it all?

To be honest, I still struggle with that question. But as I look back on these last 365 days, I know the lessons learned, the glimmers gained, and everything in between have brought me closer to the answer — and back to my truest self.

The Lessons:

Healing cannot be rushed. Nor does it ever stop.
You can still grieve change, even when you were the one who chose it.
The universe will show you signs — whether you like it or not. (fuhkin’ frogs).
People will talk about you. Let them.
People will believe in you. Let them.
Sometimes all you can do is sit in the ache and trust that it’s teaching you something.
Mother Nature will always win. But she’ll teach you to surrender.
Holding on can cause more pain than letting go.
Vulnerability is scary, but it’s your superpower. Use it to help others find theirs, too.

The Glimmers:

Slow mornings and rest days — because there’s nothing sexy about hustle culture.
Lifting heavy again after two years of injury — feeling safe in my body once more.
Saying “no” without fear, because I’ve learned to put myself first.
Sitting at a table full of women asking, “How can we support you?” — and knowing they mean it.
Healing my inner child by exploring, playing, and creating like she used to.
Long dinners with my dad and my brother, where they tell stories I’ve heard a hundred times but would happily hear ten thousand more.
Realizing that every closed door led me to open my own: Aleō Studio.
Every time a client says how strong they feel, how much they look forward to class, and how much “this space feels like home.”
And dancing through the quiet — realizing I’m no longer waiting to be chosen, because I already chose me.

I don’t know exactly what this next year of healing will look like, but I do know this: I’m no longer racing to find out. I’m building — slowly and intentionally — right where my (sandy) feet are.

This version of me is softer but stronger, still healing but standing tall.

And through lessons and glimmers, I’m learning that home isn’t something you find — it’s something you create, again and again.