Before the Soul: A Beginning I Didn’t Plan

What I didn’t expect was that writing this book would make me realise I was still hiding. Even as I poured my heart into these pages, I knew I wasn’t sharing the full story. And who was I to write a self-help book anyway, when my life has often looked like chaos stitched together with hope?

So here it is. This isn’t written from a pedestal. It’s not neat or perfect. This is a book written from the messy middle, with cracked hands and a heart wide open. It’s written by someone who still has days where she forgets everything she teaches and has to sit quietly and remember it all again.

The first time I truly felt alive again was when poetry started pouring through me. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be a writer or healer. I was just broken.

After a heartbreak that tore me apart, the words came. And while I’ve experienced things far worse, this one split opened in a different way. It emptied me. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t concentrate. I had no idea how to cope.

Then one night, the words came. I wrote a poem and shared it on social media. I was terrified. I was afraid of being seen, afraid of judgment, afraid someone would say out loud what I had always feared in silence, that I wasn’t enough.

Because this wasn’t the polished version of me. This was the raw one. The one people had whispered about. The one they called too sensitive, too intense, too much. But I posted it anyway. And something shifted.

I realised maybe the parts I had been hiding weren’t weaknesses. Maybe they were guides. Maybe being cracked open wasn’t the end of me, it was the beginning.

And this was the first piece that came through:

I remember all that I AM. I remember all that I can be. I remember all that came before me, and all that will come after me. I remember all the lives I have lived, and all the lives I am yet to live. The magic in remembering who you are, the essence of your soul. Once you remember, the knowledge flows.

That poem wasn’t just something I wrote. It was something I remembered. A quiet declaration that my soul had never left me. I had just stopped listening.

And the moment I started remembering, everything changed.

Funny thing is, even though everything changed, nothing did.

Not at first…