22 Days Ago, I Blew Up My Life—Again
Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But when you live nomadically, a location change isn’t exactly earth-shattering, right? Still, leaving Bend, Oregon felt like setting off a carefully placed detonation inside my own chest. I ended a relationship I desperately didn’t want to walk away from. I left a community that finally made me feel known in a way I hadn’t realized I was starving for. And for the past 22 days, I’ve barely spoken to anyone—on purpose.
When I told my mom that I hadn’t had a face-to-face conversation with another human until day 16, she was surprised. Maybe some people would think it’s strange. But when you’re a deeply feeling, chronically overthinking human being caught between the life you’re convinced you need and an insistent, gnawing curiosity to flip over the one rock still left unturned—it’s exactly what was necessary.
And let me tell you, the things I found under that rock have been interesting.
Lately, I’ve been running on fumes—the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that even sleep can’t touch. And while starting this new journey here on Substack has been refreshing in ways I couldn’t have imagined—connecting with real, alive people who get excited about depth on the internet, fellow writers who live for nuance—it’s been tinged with an unsettling hum of something I couldn’t quite name.
I finally figured it out: Instead of asking myself, What feels true? What feels real? I’ve been asking, What feels valuable, helpful, or necessary? And while there’s nothing inherently wrong with those questions, I realized the answers were building a house inside me—a sleek, curated, Instagram-filtered kind of home. The kind with perfect paint colors and lighting but no soul.
Every piece of content I’d been creating—helpful tips, thoughtful insights—felt like another piece of furniture in that hollow house. On the surface, it looked great. My subscriber count grew little by little. But deep down, I felt empty. And one day, while researching codependency for a piece, it hit me like a wrecking ball.
I was living in codependency—with myself.
I had created a version of myself—disciplined, driven, bold, ambitious. She was my default setting, my safety net. And don’t get me wrong, those qualities matter. They’ve gotten me far. But they were also steeped in hustle culture, in a version of me that once believed productivity was the measure of my worth.
Here’s the thing: I want an ambitious life. A big one. I dream of sipping wine on a balcony in Tuscany, the sun dipping low as I laugh with my best friends. I want to swim in the jewel-toned waters of Thailand, host womxn’s retreats filled with hope and connection, and stand on stages, speaking truths that crack people open in the best way. I want land in Washington with a wine-bar-bookstore called That One Place, where strangers come in for coffee and leave with lifelong friends.
These dreams are big. They’re bold. And for the longest time, I believed I needed to be just as big and bold every day to deserve them. I thought I had to hustle—to grind my way there on a road paved with sacrifice and suffering. If I wasn’t her—the disciplined, ambitious version of me—then it wouldn’t happen. Worse, I wouldn’t even be worthy of it.
That was the lie. And it was stealing the life I wanted before I even got there.
For weeks now, I’ve been unraveling that lie thread by thread. Sometimes, it wakes me up in the middle of the night with its quiet insistence. What if the life I want doesn’t have to be loud? What if my slow, intentional steps are enough to get me there?
Growing up in the shadow of influencer media culture, I’d absorbed the idea that ambition had to look a certain way—flashy, polished, loud. But that’s not me. Not really. I’m happiest in the small moments. The soft glow of morning light streaming through a window. The breeze brushing my face during a quiet walk. The way cool droplets from a sprinkler catch me by surprise, leaving me laughing and alive.
I don’t need to be noticed. I just want to be seen.
And here’s the truth I’ve been circling around for days now: I’m tired of trying to be helpful. Not because I don’t care—I care deeply—but because trying to perform helpfulness has started to feel hollow. I have tools for days—NLP, neuroscience, coaching frameworks—but I don’t want them to be my focus anymore. What I want is to be honest. Maybe that’s the most helpful thing I can do.
Here’s who I am, if you haven’t gathered by now: I’m a big feeler, a noticer of details, a quiet disruptor. I see the way light dances on tiny yellow flowers, the way emotions ripple off people in waves. I cry often—at sadness, at beauty, at the heartbreaking hope of watching something fall apart so something new can grow. I live for quiet moments of reflection, for being present enough to be surprised.
And yes, I have a pretty foul mouth, especially when I’m passionate. It’s not for shock value—it’s because I want you to feel what I feel. To feel me.
This is what Everyday Esoteric is for and yes, I changed the name — I was nervous about it but I don’t care because every reason why had to do with what people would think or who would leave, whatever, that’s a boring fear…
It’s a space for big feelers, deep thinkers, and curious wanderers. For the woo-ish and the wanderers, the people who’ve been told they’re “too much” but know that they’re just right. Here, I’ll share what I notice when I’m paying attention: tarot pulls that land like a lightning bolt, the stories behind the earrings I bead, recipes my mom swears I can make in the van, and the beautiful, messy chaos of my days.
This space isn’t perfect, and it’s not meant to be. It’s honest, not polished. Raw, not filtered. And if that resonates with you—if you’re ready to live a life that feels real, not just productive—then you’re in the right place.
Let’s be real: I’m scared. Scared this won’t make sense, that I’ll still feel like I’m shouting into the void. But I’m also hopeful. Hopeful that honesty will feel like freedom. Hopeful that this space will find the people it’s meant for.
So here it is: I’m still figuring it out. I’m still learning how to live a bold life while staying slow, present, and intentional. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: honesty is the bravest thing we can give each other.
If that sounds like something you need, stick around. Let’s grow something real together.
To the brave thing,
C
“I don’t need to be noticed. I just want to be seen.” As a fellow Projector, I resonate with this deeply.
Yes, to fully showing up! The time is now 💗❤️🔥👏