You’re Not Broken, You’re Becoming

What if your darkest moments are part of the sacred unraveling?

For nearly fifteen years, healing became the thing I centered my life around. After almost a decade of self-destruction, it felt like the only way to make things right. But the path has been anything but a straight line.

I’ve lived through times so dark, I didn’t think I could survive the pain. And I’ve had moments so bright with gratitude that my heart could barely hold it. I’ve felt the wild oscillation between the two—and in my lowest points, I often believed there must be something wrong with me. That I was broken beyond repair. I’d ask myself, “How am I still struggling this much when I’ve done so much healing work?”

When I say healing became the center of my life, I’m not exaggerating. After one of the lowest nights of my life—when I didn’t think I could go on—I woke the next morning knowing I needed to take drastic action. I checked myself into an in-patient facility for trauma, depression, and anxiety. And when those dark feelings returned after I tried to go back to my corporate job, I made the conscious decision to quit—and the unconscious decision to make healing my full-time job.

Without even realizing it, I began devoting my life to healing—like it was the only way to atone for the years I spent abandoning myself, going against my soul.

For the past eight years, I’ve been weaving in and out of depression, in and out of joy, in and out of purpose. At times, it felt like I was trapped in a loop—one that only confirmed the belief that something was wrong with me. I’ve been so hard on myself. I’ve felt confused, isolated, and ashamed of how deeply I still struggle. There’s always been a seed of greater purpose growing in my heart, but these cycles of unworthiness kept it from blooming.

When I was coaching, I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect. Every time my mental health dipped, I’d spiral into self-doubt, questioning how I could serve others when I was struggling so much myself. I was following the path that seemed like the “right” way to help people—but constantly feeling like I wasn’t good enough. Even when I shared the tools that had changed my life—and watched them spark real transformation in others—I still felt like an imposter. Not because the tools weren’t working, but because I hadn’t arrived at some perfect state of healing myself.

I thought life was supposed to get to a place where you were unaffected by external circumstances if you just did enough inner work. Life has gotten easier in many ways. My reality today looks nothing like it did fifteen years ago. But there are still days where the weight of it all feels too much. And I disappear. Numb out. Implode.

That’s what happened last May.

I was doing a two-and-a-half-month pet sitting job in Austin, Texas, where I didn’t really know anyone. It hit me one day—suddenly and completely—like the foundation of my life crumbled all at once. My physical and mental health collapsed. I didn’t just feel incapable of coaching anymore—I felt furious. Furious at the way the industry teaches us to perform our healing. To pretend to be “experts.” To hide our humanity. I couldn’t live that lie any longer.

Thankfully, the contracts I had with clients were ending. I told them I wasn’t sure I could continue coaching and that I didn’t know if I ever would again.

Because I no longer felt the pressure to show up for anyone, I gave myself full permission to retreat from the world. For the first time in my life, I didn’t pile the weight of needing to fix myself or be perfect on top of the pain I was already in.

At first, it looked like every other depressive episode. Numbing out. Crying hysterically to my mom when the darkness felt so thick that the fear of being sick and stuck felt like it was taking over. But because I wasn’t trying to force a solution or prove I was okay… I began to be more gentle with myself.

Some days, I would allow myself to do nothing but curl up on the couch and watch movies from my childhood all day. On other days, I would drink without judgment, recognizing that, on those days, my nervous system just needed relief—even if it didn’t look ‘healthy.’ By not being so hard on myself, I gave myself space to simply be.

The ego that had armored me with knowledge—of psychology, tools, self-care—began to dissolve, leaving me open to the great mystery unfolding and giving me more trust in the process.

But I hadn’t yet surrendered fully—until one night, through the tears, something different happened.

I prayed in a way I never had before. Not out of desperation, but from my heart—to the God I’d always felt inside but had abandoned long ago, after being taught that God was wrathful, judgmental, and to be feared.

I humbly surrendered, saying out loud, “God, I don’t know what to do. Please help me.”

The answers didn’t come all at once. They were gentle nudges leading me home. In that surrender, I could feel myself accept where I was, trusting that eventually, I would feel better. I didn’t know it then, but that prayer was the beginning of my return, not just to myself, but to a real relationship with God.

Bit by bit, things began to shift. Instead of trying to change how I felt, I would journal, write poetry, cry, dance, listen to music, go for a walk. I stopped judging my emotions and began wrapping my inner child in love. These were all tools I’ve used in the past, the difference was that I no longer felt like I was fighting my demons alone.

I’ve come to believe the thing I used to hate hearing—"God won’t give you more than you can handle"—might actually be true. Not because it’s easy. But because every spiral brings us deeper into remembrance….

of the truth of who we are….

that we are love….

that we are not separate from God.

These cycles do not mean that there is something wrong with us. In fact, they mean we have grown to the point that we are ready to shed more layers. They are an invitation. To accept ourselves as we are. To stop trying to transcend our humanness and, instead, to love ourselves through it.

The two greatest lessons I’ve been integrating this year have been:

🌿 Accepting myself as an emotional being.
🌿 Surrendering to Divine Timing.

Because life is cyclical. Healing is a spiral.

Unless you’re a monk living in a cave meditating every day, you’ll probably never reach a point where you’re unaffected by life. And that doesn’t make you broken—it makes you human.

It’s time to change the story around healing.

We all experience highs and lows. What we need in the valleys aren’t more tools or timelines—we need tenderness. We need the reminders that we’re not behind, not failing, not broken.

That we are exactly where we’re meant to be.

And maybe… that’s the most sacred place we can ever be.

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Love Always,
Becca