I read somewhere last year that a lot of the time when we want to do really big things with our lives, it’s not that we can’t, it’s often the fear of failure that stops us.
In the text it reminded me that at one point in history, if we wanted to quit a job, move to a new city or start a new relationship, it wasn’t expected of us to make a public announcement like it is now. You just found a new job, packed your stuff and privately enjoyed the romance.
It must have planted a seed, and I decided to start to make some shifts to see how it would feel to move my life forward, just for me. I booked a flight to Brazil with the intention of going for a month, but also without the responsibility of what was always bringing me back to the UK in previous trips.
This was a shedding.
And it was hard.
I rehomed my pet I’d had for nine years 💔
Gave up all my belongings and handed back the key to my home, saying my goodbyes.
I still had other things to finalize, but I wanted to feel into that with more clarity and space.
I felt a chapter close. Whatever unfolded, things would be different, and I was so ready for that.
Brazil opened its arms and scooped me in from the minute I landed. I could feel the energy.
What I also felt was a coming back to myself. I had played something out to the very end. Whatever happened, I had built a trust in my capabilities.
This had been happening over the months, sticking to my habits, showing up, doing the hard things. Let me tell you,
life tested me. Two weeks before I was due to fly out, my friend had to cancel due to unforeseen events. It threw my piece of grounding in the air.
Again, I pulled on my resources. I knew that this trip was happening, and I’d figure out the details.
Five days in, I needed to move from my original place. The accommodation everywhere was crazy as it was peak.
I breathed, let go, and found what I was looking for.
Little did I know how much that next place would stay with me as a bold memory for the foreseeable.
The joy was effortless for that first week, the people I met, the sunshine, the fullness of life. I knew where my heart was heading, and I was so grateful I didn’t have the strings of the UK pulling me back from what I could see in front of me.
I stayed connected to everyone back home, which helped me establish that baseline.
Just about to make a call to one of the girls, I saw messages telling me to call. There was a knot in my stomach.
When the news came, the knot screamed from my mouth.
Like I was on the highest part of a rollercoaster and it dropped me down.
My dad had died.
I spent the day in total confusion.
Little moments, like the guy behind reception making me a tea, would bring me back to reality.
Thankfully I had a support system that was solid. We don’t realize the strength that holds us together till our world is in pieces.
Over the next week, I cannot begin to tell you the emotions that followed. It was intense.
I was still living in this dream, but the nightmare was alive too.
One thing that kept showing up was the kindness of strangers, people who didn’t owe me anything, not realizing how much their little deeds were life rafts in my tsunami. It was like God was sending angels.
A specific couple had heard me chatting on the phone. At night, I couldn’t sleep, so I was heading outside to get some fresh air. They stopped me, not wanting to pry, just acknowledging they knew what had happened. I sobbed that they had this much compassion for me. They hugged me and sat and chatted till I was tired.
I spent two weeks being graced with other random situations like this—people taking me on hikes, for food, carrying my luggage when I was struggling—all without knowing the depths of what I was experiencing.
Then there were others who did, just softly asking where I was at. “If you want to talk about your dad, we can. But if you want to talk about other stuff, that’s okay too.”
Next was my back and forth on coming home. I had therapy too, which was already in place. Strange how we don’t expect things, but we have the right structures in place to the best we can.
I specifically told my therapist, my dad would want me to keep going now. He would tell me to live my life. He spent his younger years being wild, and I had this pulse in me.
Life had a lot more calm moments. I could think about it or not think about it, talk about it or get to know someone else.
Then I’d tell a stranger and feel this need to be strong because I’d shared this heaviness.
It opened up deeper chats, and I never felt judged or that I’d overshared.
I had a week to make a solid decision. I headed to the forest to do some yoga.
This brought balance. The part that was holding me back from going home was the idea I wouldn’t make this move again, that I wouldn’t see my South American dream to fruition. I was okay with my life in the UK; I’d built a very nice life.
Yet that all seemed meaningless.
My therapist said, “When we have sudden loss, it can shock us into a new reality. The glasses we’ve been wearing can shatter, and we can never see through them the way we once did.”
It was exactly how I felt. That I didn’t want to wear those glasses now.
With some space, I realized I could do both. I booked a return flight for that weekend.
I knew that this way, no matter how I was feeling right now, I wouldn’t look back in years with any regrets.
It was also an opportunity to fully process the grief with my family.
I’ve experienced a lot of grief before. This time it was so different, maybe because a parent is so connected to you, and your relationship has many layers.
I think it’s because I feel so present with what I was and am still experiencing.
This grief brought up other grief, and then leaving people to head back out was another layer of it. Plus the identities I was letting go of.
A hell of a lot of reasons to feel.
I’ve been back in Brazil two months now. I miss so many things from back home.
I picture how I’d be. Maybe I’d spend my down days in my bed, alone and swallowed up by my sadness. Maybe I wouldn’t. I’d keep busy, put on a mask that I’m okay. I’m not sure.
The sad days still come here, and I’m not afraid to be with them.
But I know the blanket for grief is connection. Just being in a room with others, even if no one is speaking, brings me comfort.
Expressing that today my grief is alive, and asking for a hug.
Watching the waves and seeing it move the same way my feelings do from day to day.
Fully surrendering to the sand below me.
Then on the good days, immersing myself in this culture that’s so abundant.
Appreciating all the little things because I had the shock of a death to remind me that I’m still alive 💚
I don’t know why everything happened in this order. I’d like to say there’s some divine hand at play. Can I be certain of that? No.
One thing I’m becoming more comfortable with is being okay not knowing, not having it all figured out, being grateful for the mystery of life, and trusting myself to ride the waves. Which is fitting, because I’m about to learn how to surf.
Pray for me.
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