I Met Myself

After staying in the same building multiple times over several years, I thought I had discovered all its secrets. But hidden behind a painting was door that led to the RED ROOM!!!

While feeling rather angsty on the last day of travel, I decided to sit down and write. But first, I wanted to check in with all my unfinished blogs. Which led to check in with my online presence and I was rather shocked to discover that I hadn’t posted a blog in over 8 months!!! 

So rather than picking back up topics that have gathered dust on my virtual blog desk, I decided to write from a more personal place. And do a little check in. Ya know, to get those creative juices flowing again.

I’m currently writing to you from a couch in a cute lil airbnb located on the 21st floor of a fancy apartment building overlooking San Jose, Costa Rica. I’m perched here after leading a week-long retreat in Uvita (south Pacific corner) and chose to stay a few extra days to decompress. Typically, I lean towards more nature-y vibes for post retreat grounding but this time I opted for convenience, ease, and taking the bus ride that I paid for as part of the retreat package. 

 I did a little math and by the end of this trip I’ve spent approximately 70 days of my life in this country!! Yep, I’m a nerd who likes random life statistics like that…

While Costa Rica is easily my most favorite place, it's definitely not because it's always sunshine, rainbows, and dolphins. There's something about this magical place that rips my heart open to be seen and healed. I almost broke my thumb, have had more than few panic attacks, and typically leave with sooo many bumps and bruises because PURA VIDA often means off-road adventures and questionable stairs. Even though the city of San Jose is the capital (and home to the airport), I've never spent more than a night or two here and they definitely weren't my favorite. I can’t help but reminisce on previous times spent in this city, as they ranged from neutral to terrible but never quite to the enjoyable end of the spectrum. 

What’s relevant in this moment is that in 2021 I had a panic attack, which led to my brother spooning me to calm me down, which resulted in me deciding I was a “nope” for alcohol just as a trial, and I’m thrilled to report that I’m still holding strong and comfortably in the “nope”. 

Not in a trendy IG way, but way more therapeutic…

a few hours ago, I met my past self for a drink.

2021 “me” was holding 2 Sangrias and concerned about the cardboard straws disintegrating.

Today “me” had a lemonada and was craving a cheeseburger.

I sat at the same table now as I did then, but this time it was just me.

I took a moment and looked around. I saw my past, at present, and probably peered into my future as I will most definitely be back (Jardin de Lolita is my favorite spot).

I saw all the ways that I thought alcohol made me braver, more social, or more likable. And I saw all the ways I had proved myself wrong - hello, singing karaoke stone cold sober in the jungle with friends while performing all the dance moves and hip shakes. And then my beeper went off - my cheeseburger was calling. 

This type of experience has become rather familiar for me this calendar year as I’ve mostly traveled to places I’ve been before and synchronistically places that I experienced trauma. I shared extensively on IG during my trip to Guatemala and was jokingly referring to it as “returning to the scene of the crime" as my own personal pilgrimage back to San Marcos. When I visited in 2023, it created quite the impression as someone I once cared about make a point to do everything in their power to tear me down so he could feel more powerful. I had been stuck in these memories ever since, often replaying the scenes again and again where I was told how I wasn’t sh*t without that person. I had done EMDR on these moment and yet these still held a charge. So I went directly the source, well the best I could as one of the places was no longer a hostel and instead a family lived there, oopsies! (I played dumb and lost American and apologized as I walked back down the path.) I met myself there. In all my pain and all my circumstance and in all my stories. I spent most of my free time during that retreat hiding in my room under the covers processing…processing….processing. I regretted cancelling therapy as my brain felt overloaded. I wrote a lot in my journal. But upon my return home, I felt less controlled by my past and more able to move forward.

I was mildly triggered this past week with a similar-ish conjunction of memories while being spiritually sucked back in another past scene of grief, abandonment, and egotistical ass-hats. But this time, I wasn’t alone. I had someone with me who may not have fully understood what I was going through but still somehow managed to say the one thing my wounded self needed to hear “I’m here for you. I support you.” Learning from the past, I kept my therapy session and was able to move through the trigger and land back in the present, which was pretty freaking magical!

So while I want to guilt trip myself into being a “bad” writer for not publishing any words in 8ish months, I also fully recognize that I’ve been using my powers of creation to rewrite faulty stories that have been previously hardwired into my cells and soul. And for that, I am grateful.

I met myself....

in all the places I had lost my pieces

in all the ways I had abandoned my heart

in all my magic

in San Jose, and ya know it's pretty ok

:)