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November 2, 2018

In February 2017, I went on pilgrimage to Iceland. This post is part of my Iceland memoirs, reflecting on my experiences traveling alone for the first time in Europe. Nothing has been edited from what I’d written in my travel journal to keep it as authentic as possible.   

In the middle of nowhere I learned to trust myself.

I discovered just how capable I’d become. I realized that if I’d come this far and not only survived, but now thrived, that there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.

I learned that the only one standing in my way was me. That I was the one who’d broken my own heart.

And that I refused to be broken anymore.

I decided I wasn’t going to dumb down my greatness. That I no longer could play small because I’m meant for so much more, something so much bigger than I’ve yet to comprehend.

I learned that pain is only temporary.

That emotions come and go like the ebb and flow of life. And that they flow easier when I stop giving them so much damn power.

I discovered my voice again.

In the silence of that car, in the aloneness of this vast, beautiful country, my inner goddess cried out.

She begged to be heard. She quietly surfaced and rose from the ash.

I learned that everything would always be okay.

Whatever trials and tribulations this life may bring, I would no longer suffer the way I had been for so long.

I grew tired. I was exhausted from fighting. I was done.

Done being at war with myself, and done with being at war with others.

I didn’t know if I would find my peace out there. I’d prayed I would, but I wasn’t convinced it would happen.

What I found out there was so much more than peace alone, more than strength. More than love and abundance.

What I found was myself.  

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