There’s a part of my story I’ve never shared in its fullness.

Not because I was hiding—

but because I was still inside it.

Because some transformations are so silent, so sacred,

they need time to root before they can rise.

But I think I’m ready now.

Not to dramatize the pain,

but to honor the becoming.

So here it is—

the quiet truth of how I survived the fall…

and what I found in the stillness that came after.

There was a time I walked alone.

Truly alone.

Not just without people—but without certainty, without direction, without the version of me I had built my whole life around.

Everything fell away.

Who I thought I was.

What I thought I wanted.

What I thought I had to be to be loved.

It was like walking through fog with no map,

guided only by instinct,

by a flicker of something I couldn’t name.

I didn’t know then that this emptiness was sacred.

That what felt like abandonment was actually invitation.

Because when everything else was gone,

I found something I had long forgotten:

Myself.

Not the performative self.

Not the pleasing self.

But the real, soft, stubborn, wonder-filled girl

who used to believe in things no one could see.

She came back to me.

But not before everything broke.

There was a collapse—

quiet and invisible from the outside,

but inside, it was an earthquake.

Beliefs I held.

Roles I performed.

People I clung to.

Dreams I outgrew.

All of it crumbled.

And for a while, I didn’t try to rebuild.

I sat with the rubble.

Cried inside the ruins.

Let myself grieve what never really belonged to me.

That was the real beginning.

Because when you lose everything false,

you start to hear your soul clearly.

And my soul…

was whispering something new.

From those ashes, something sacred was born.

I didn’t just want to survive anymore.

I wanted to create.

Not to escape life,

but to bless it.

That’s where Meridian Craftworks came from.

That’s where From Shadow to Shine emerged.

Not from a business plan.

Not from strategy.

But from devotion.

From the deep, quiet knowing that I was here to create something meaningful.

Something alive.

A sanctuary disguised as a brand.

A resurrection woven into slow-made goods.

A love letter to the forgotten:

the elders, the orphans, the artisans, the parts of myself I once thought were too strange, too sensitive, too much.

What I’m building now is a temple—

for soul, for beauty, for truth.

For others, yes—

but also for the girl who once thought she had to disappear to survive.

And yet, if I’m honest—

this story is not just about creation.

It’s also about longing.

I’ve fought hard to live with my heart open.

To stay soft in a world that taught me to guard myself.

To give love, even when it hasn’t always known how to return.

But inside me, there’s still a desire.

Not for rescue—

but for resonance.

For someone who sees what it took to get here.

For someone who wants to walk beside me,

not because I’m perfect or healed or impressive—

but because I’m real.

Because my light is honest.

Because my presence feels like home.

I’ve held this part of me quietly.

Not wanting to seem like I’m waiting.

But the truth is—

I’m ready.

Ready for a soul who doesn’t flinch at depth.

Who doesn’t fear my fire or my tenderness.

Who understands that love isn’t about fixing,

but about feeling.

And if you ask me now where I stand—

I’ll tell you:

I’m still learning.

Still listening.

Still unraveling layers of who I thought I had to be.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I’m not ashamed of that anymore.

Because the mystery is where my magic lives.

Because every question I carry is lined with beauty.

Because the woman I am now doesn’t need to be certain—

she just needs to be true.

So this is the story I’m ready to tell.

Not just of loss.

Not just of strength.

But of softness.

Of sacred rebuilding.

Of deep, quiet hope.

Because someone out there is walking through their own rubble.

And I want them to know:

You are not broken.

You are becoming.

And even when you feel most alone—

there is a story being written in you

that one day will light the way for someone else.

Just like mine is lighting the way for me now.