I recently created Moss and light with the intention to create a space where I can give my inner experience a voice. Where I can organize the things I learn that help me a long the way, serving as reminders to myself when i get lost, but also maybe as a resource for others out there looking for inspiration, ideas, or relating.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt lonely in my experience. There’s always so much going on inside, that people tend to either not understand, or prefer not to engage in those kind of topics. Various support groups and communities have helped, but only to a point.
I’ve also always had a strong feeling/belief that my experiences were meant to happen so I could be led to some innate gift I could use to help others who are suffering. I tried to materialize something, to no avail.
I took yoga teacher training in 2010/2011. It blew my mind how much yoga could help me mentally and physically. I adored my classmates and teachers and learned so much about my self in that program. Teaching classes however (in the era of groupons), felt anxiety inducing and empty. It felt more like a fitness class, than the homecoming I knew it could be. People packed in like sardines, with no opportunity for the intimacy and connection I’d feel leading my friends or classmates in smaller groups.
A couple years later, I went to school for holistic nutrition. I’d seen how much my food choices could impact me mentally and physically. I wanted to learn more and see if this could be the way I could put my own experiences (along with education and training) to use, in a way that could serve others who are seeking answers or relief. What that program lacked unfortunately, was training (or even a mention) around how much your clients would struggle even after you gave them a protocol to guide them, because change is incredibly hard and our subconscious will battle us the whole way for a myriad of reasons. I did not know how to help them navigate that. Even I struggled with knowing better but not always doing the better thing. I started to feel like an imposter, and after a couple years, I let go.
3 years later, I enrolled in a life coaching certification program, as I had experienced how much working with a coach helped me navigate moments of deep ‘freeze’, lack of self trust, or feeling into my body and tuning into it’s subtle signals. I completely absorbed myself into the program, the teachings, and the community. It was a beautiful time of self discovery for me. I led a weekly meditation group at the beach, I build an extensive portfolio of offerings (free & paid), posted resources or uplifting words almost daily on Instagram, and even built a 3 month program, which I launched, and then crumbled under the weight when the panic of it all became too heavy. The meditation group meant so much to me, but it started giving me heart palpitations. I had to start wearing a heart monitor so my doctor could try and find a pattern in my heart’s erratic rhythms. The 3 month program (and thoughts of leading a group, feeling inadequate, and the enormous pressure building), finally did me in. I broke an 8 month stretch of cannabis sobriety, and let go of it all. My own coach urged me to keep going, that there was always an uptick in resistance before a breakthrough, but I felt too far into a deficit to even consider it. It was truly heartbreaking.
A few months before I let go of coaching, I had a falling out with my ‘best friend’ of over 20 years. I use quotations because the last several years we had been drifting apart, but I kept referring to her the same way, out of habit I guess. She was my childhood bestie and even into my 20’s, and the main person I would talk to about all things wellness. So when I let go of coaching, I felt a huge void. Who do I share these things with now? Forever moving towards a better version of myself, so I can live a life of presence and intention, has been my north star since 2006 (a pivotal moment in my life I’ll unpack in another post).
I eventually decided to seek out some new local friends. I met a couple of ladies on Bumble BFF, and spent the year with them hiking, doing yoga, visiting nature spots, kayaking, going to comedy and whatever else. It was also kind of a re-integration to the real world, as Covid was just starting to fade into the background and people were going out again. That summer, one of the girls relentlessly encouraged me to get online and start dating again. I’d been single for years, so I agreed to put myself out there, despite feeling like my history of relational traumas would forever prevent me from making a real connection.
Despite the odds, I met someone that fall who had limitless patience and goodwill towards me. He seemed oblivious to all of my perceived shortcomings. I was a ball of anxiety, both wanting to get close to someone, yet terrified to. He didn’t seem to notice much of it (I mask well), and stayed his easy going self the whole way which gave me an anchor to imperfectly coregulate to. He’s the kind of person my brain categorizes as ‘normal’. Friendly, smart, easy going, social, full of energy, productive, successful. Maybe I could be all those things too, in time.
Despite my knowing better (for someone with a sensitive nervous system and multiple traumas), we propelled forward pretty quickly. About 6 months in, we decided to start looking for a place together. I had been saving to buy a home outside the city, with as much acreage as I could afford, so I could connect to and steward the natural world that lived there. He had his own motivations to start searching for a new home, and because he grew up playing in rivers, felt especially called to get close to water. We ended up choosing a place in a new province, 10 hours away from my friends and family (which has been and continues to be really difficult). We found acreage, big windows (another dream of mine), right by the ocean, a lake, and many rivers.
Life got so much busier than I was prepared for. The home needed all sorts of attention. Painting, repairs, creating gardens, keeping deer out, usual maintenance and the list went on. I was also faced with more socializing than my nervous system could stay regulated for. I was in a beautiful home with a beautiful man, but having a really hard time keeping up with it all.
A year in, I decided to go back to school to advance my financial designation. I left a job (and a meaningful mentor/friendship) in pursuit of career development and the opportunity to work with other professionals in my field. Boy did I underestimate the shock that transition would be. Since 2012, I had been a freelance bookkeeper & consultant, working on my own terms and leaving space for my other interests. In 2020, I mostly shifted to employment with my main client, while still leaving breathing room in my schedule. Now I was working full time, at an enormous organization, all while taking courses towards a CPA designation.
Being only a couple years into my late autism diagnosis – I was still developing an understanding of all the things that trigger my overwhelm – change being a big one. Also taking on more than I have capacity for – something I’ve been doing on and off my entire life, always causing massive crashes, without me ever seeing the pattern clearly. When you grow up being told you’re too soft, too sensitive, not trying hard enough, just need a more positive mindset etc., it becomes internalized. So after every crash, I would look for the missteps I must have took, and assumed I messed up somewhere. Again.
2025 has been a big year of change. Going from working with a small business of 8, to an organization of over 9,000. Struggling through courses I don’t have the time to deeply absorb (the way my brain prefers to learn things). Keeping up with our homestead, while still adapting to living with someone who has different needs and preferences, and trying to find a way to make it all work. Then my mum got sick, and after a few months of navigating all the worry and uncertainty with my family, things really started to crumble with my mental and physical health.
Chronic pain, digestive issues, and allergies all started to rev up to new levels. I felt almost permanently dissociated. Brain fog and depression became daily companions. I was sore all the time. Focusing on anything felt impossible. Despite seeing both a counsellor and a psychologist weekly, I could feel that I was sinking. I started working with a Naturopath who recommended supplements to address digestion and allergy issues, and despite the deep shame I felt for having to ask, I requested a reduced schedule for a couple of weeks, so I could try and get a handle on myself.
I used those extra days off as well as I could. Resting, writing, reflecting on life. I spent time reading about the nervous system and looking for some things I could hold onto at the end of those 2 weeks. Sometimes I just stared out the window lost in thought, cuddling with my animals and watching the birds enjoy all the dead flowers I left in the garden to help sustain them over the winter. I spent time outside, coregulating with the land and letting the moment move me from one thing to another. Towards the end, I started having some moments where I felt like ‘Oh yeah, this is what it feels like to feel ok’ like this nostalgic familiarity, to not be weighted down with existential angst and despair. It reminded me what it felt like to feel lighter, and I leaned into it as hard as I could. I had a couple days where I started feeling inspiration and those familiar, quiet tugs towards this elusive outlet I’ve been dreaming of but hadn’t yet unmaterialized.
The idea of going back to my old coaching website and/or Instagram account felt too complicated. I wanted to start something clean, with no baggage, to be my most authentic self. This is why I am choosing anonymity (for now). I don’t want to be influenced to mask or alter my message, which I am always tempted to do when I consider this or that person reading my content. My hope is that once I ‘find my voice’ and feel more confident in my authenticity, I wont feel the necessity for anonymity any longer, but for now, this is my safe space. I hope it can be for you too. If you’re here and reading these words, I’d love to hear from you; your story, how you came across this site, and if you found anything helpful. My hope is that over time, I will discover how or where I might be meant to help. I’d also love to connect with others in general and feel less alone in these experiences and/or endeavors.
My intention is to lean into this space as a way to keep me anchored in my own self discovery, healing, and growing. Along with the faith that over time I might find a community I can serve and/or relate with. Even if only to relate to myself better and develop the confidence to be more authentic and engaged in my local community. Or even just with my loved ones. Wherever this will take me, I feel like this is the right next step, despite the overall path feeling unknown.
Something about me, I love symbolism. I decided on Dec 1st (my last day off) what my regulating strategy would be for the coming weeks (influenced by the nervous system reading I mentioned). I would create mossandlight before the new year. I would request a reduction in work hours; setting the foundation for 2026 to be stabilizing and nourishing. Dec 1st is also 21 days from solstice, when the year begins it’s next inhale. I decided I would allow myself as much rest & downtime as desired for the next 3 weeks; aligning with the rhythm of my natural environment. I also challenged myself to document each day on my anonymous/private Instagram account, from the 1st-21st, calling out moments of beauty on each day; a cute little 21 day memento of this difficult, transitional, beautiful time in my life, this winter in 2025.
2 weeks later, I’ve researched Canadian hosting companies, picked one, bought this domain, set up a basic home and blog page, and am about to publish my first post. It’s a long one, but it feels good to lay the foundation. The website design is still in early stages, but I suspect it’s unlikely I will attract visitors in the first few months anyway.. so I’m skipping right to the part I’ve been hungry for. Writing. Let the 10,000 hours begin.