It’s April 2014.

I’m staring at my face in the bathroom mirror, watching my left eye swell shut. The shingles virus had taken up residence in my optic nerve.

The timing felt cruel.

Just four months earlier, I had declared that June 1st would be my last day at my corporate job. I fully intended to leap into coaching full-time.

As the days ticked on and the deadline loomed, doubt crept in.

I didn’t have any paying clients.
My savings were nearly non-existent.
The voice in my head wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Push the date back—just six more months. Be responsible.

I almost listened.

Then the universe (or whatever name you give the invisible hand that shakes us awake when we’re not listening) stepped in.

Shingles. In my effing eye.

The ophthalmologist couldn’t guarantee my vision would return.

And as I sat in that sterile exam room—half-blind, in pain—shift happened.

Instead of panic, I felt calm.
Instead of fear, clarity.

I was so focused on “seeing” the path.
Demanding certainty, proof, and guarantees.
But I was blind to what was right in front of me.
The longing. The readiness. The truth that eclipsed logic.

I had to lose my sight to regain my vision.

My last day at work was May 1st. A month earlier than planned.

Still half-blind. Still no clients. Still no magical influx of cash.

But I quit anyway.

That was nearly eleven years ago.
Eleven years of being fully self-employed.
Eleven years of building something solid.

And my sight?

It came back—mostly. But not completely.

To this day, I’m reminded that faith is trusting what you can’t see—yet.

​

We have it backward.

They say we need to find ourselves.
Get clear. Know what you want. Then make a move.

What if you have to lose your way to find yourself?

I’m not just talking about changing careers.

It’s about outgrowing relationships.
Changing bodies.
Dissolving identities.

Life isn’t linear. It doesn’t follow a clear arc… challenge, revelation, triumph, end scene.

It’s messier. More circular.
We lose and find and lose again.
Forward, back, and side-to-side.

I see this dance in my clients every day.

The woman who thought leaving her marriage would fix everything, only to discover her patterns were riding shotgun.

The executive who built her identity on top of her achievements, now quietly wondering what it was all for.

The mother who raised three independent children, surprised by how lost she feels now that they’re gone.

These women didn’t find clarity clinging to the shore. They had to surrender to the current. Losing their footing taught them how to swim.

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Maybe you’re having your bathroom mirror moment. Maybe something is closing—a chapter, a relationship, a way of being, and the darkness feels heavy.

Maybe the voice in your head tells you to wait, to be certain, to see the whole way forward before you move.

I’m offering you a different lens.

Trust the losing.
Honor the closing.
Welcome the darkness.

That’s where you’ll find what’s been seeking you.

In full faith,

​

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