Everything I need is already inside me. The wisdom, the truth—it’s already there. It doesn’t need to come from the outside in; it’s just waiting to be discovered. Like gold being mined. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of effort, but you get so much in return. Self-love, the courage to trust your gut, gentleness, and peace.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know that everything was already inside me. My whole life, I was convinced that someone else knew what was right. For them, for me, for "humanity." And so, I read a lot of books. I couldn't tell you how many books I've read over the past ten years, but it must have been several hundred. I tried to pluck a little bit of wisdom everywhere I could, like a starving person picking fruit from someone else's trees. And that was exactly the problem: they weren’t my trees, they weren’t my fruits—they belonged to someone else.
It was the same with podcasts. It’s un-be-liev-able how many podcasts I listened to about mental health, psychology, religion, resilience, recovery, healthy living, and whatever else. If I had a dollar for every episode, I’d be filthy rich by now! The hope here, too, was to become emotionally wealthy, to be told what that one magical key to a happy life was, so I could take it from there. But actually—and I’m only realizing this now—reading non-fiction books and listening to podcasts is like using drugs or other addictive substances: searching for that quick fix, that high, while knowing deep down you won’t find it there. It promises bliss and happiness, but it cannot deliver. The key doesn’t lie in those books; it lies in our deepest selves.
It took me many years to realize that, and even longer to admit it to myself and act on it. Since April, I’ve stopped reading those books or listening to those podcasts. Whatever needs to come to me will find its way to me somehow. Often through conversations with others, but mostly through meditation. In the silence, so much comes to the surface. Whatever I am ready for, whatever I can handle and need, comes sprouting up from my own depths. Like a little plant sprouting in early spring. Give it a little sun and water, and it grows. Give me a little silence and alone time, and I grow, too.
Sometimes I encounter situations where I act in a certain way, and I immediately know: I couldn’t have done this a year ago; I would have handled it differently back then. This is healthier; this is more right for me. Along with this, I’m starting to have more and more gentleness for myself. The fact that I was in a different place a year ago wasn't worse or less; it just was what it was. Without judgment. It’s how my specific, own, unique process unfolds. My path doesn’t look like anyone else's, and theirs doesn’t look like mine, but both are equally beautiful and equally special.
That was exactly the problem with the books and podcasts: I was hearing experiences or wisdom that might have been true, that might have been right, but they came across my path too soon. And so I started following them, all those tips and tricks, and honestly: I snapped like a twig. Because I wasn’t ripe for it. Because at that moment, I wasn't healed enough yet, not strong enough yet. And so, I took a small step backward in my recovery every time. Backward, instead of forward.
Let me give you a concrete example. About four years ago, I read somewhere that it’s good for you to compliment yourself, to say kind things to yourself. Specifically, it said to look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I am worth it." The "it"—I assume—means love, goodness, respect, life itself. It seemed like a good, powerful idea, so I stood in front of the mirror and tried to tell myself that I was worth it. Three times, you were supposed to do it, according to the book. Well... I couldn't. I didn't just cry; I broke down. I couldn't force those words out. I was in tears, shaking, completely overwhelmed. But the book said I had to say it, and I thought an author would know better, so I did what was written. I just had to say those words. And eventually, I did. Three times, to myself: "I am worth it." I can tell you: I was glad it was over. It was awful. I never even tried it again afterward; it hurt too much. But the beautiful thing is: meanwhile, life just kept moving forward, and through therapy and my blossoming spiritual life, healing happened inside of me. And a few years later, at a totally random moment, I suddenly said to myself: "I am SO worth it!" I said it then because I truly believed it, because it genuinely came from deep inside me, and because it was actually true at that moment. Nothing was forced; it just came spontaneously because I was ready for it!
My greatest fear is that someone will read this blog the exact same way I used to read books and listen to podcasts. As if I hold the ultimate truth, or as if others should do exactly what I do to find happiness. That’s not how it works. Believe me, it truly isn't. When I write something, when I share something with the world, it’s to anchor these growth points for myself—locking them in by putting them down in black and white. My hope and goal is to inspire others, to show that a gentler, more peaceful life is possible in this busy, frantic world, and to help them discover that source of love within themselves. It is not my intention to preach so-called wisdom or claim to know anyone else’s truth, because honestly, I just don't know it. Everyone’s path is unique. Mine is, and so is yours. But if our paths happen to cross somewhere along the way, wouldn't that be a beautiful thing?
