When Emptiness Softens into Peace

"My mind still tries to predict sadness, longing, regret, or grief—but the emotions that would typically rise up simply aren’t there. Instead, there’s only spaciousness, a quiet expanse within me where the turbulence used to live."

Alaska is a place like no other—vast, untamed, and alive with authentic, sturdy souls full of quiet kindness. The roads are few, but nature stretches endlessly in every direction. Breathing in that wild, unfiltered air felt like a balm to my spirit, soothing something deep within me. My body, though, wasn’t used to all that freshness—I had to laugh at how fatigued I felt.

Driving the long roads between Denali, Homer, Anchorage, and Seward gave me more than stunning views; it gave me space. In the quiet stretches of highway, my mind began to unearth something I had been holding for a long time: grief. It wasn’t tied to one person or one situation. It was vast, ancient—like it belonged to humanity itself, or at least my little corner of it. It began there, in that wild expanse, and by the time I returned home, I had given it permission to move through me fully.

For so long, I didn’t understand why I carried so much grief. I’ve come to learn that true healing often requires mourning the versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown. Intellectually, I knew this—but Alaska cracked something open. I finally allowed the grief to rip and roar through me—unclenched, unapologetic, and without rushing the process.

I grieved all the selves I’ve been in my 40+ years:

The one who settled for breadcrumbs.

The one who stayed silent instead of speaking up.

The one who longed to be liked.

The one who allowed disrespect, manipulation, and abuse just to feel connected.

The one who smiled when she wanted to scream.

The one who wanted so badly to be chosen.

And finally, the one who said, “Enough,” and began to change everything.

Back in 2021, I began the deep work of letting go—shedding identities, old wounds, and the patterns that no longer served me. In the quiet of my soul back then, I had whispered, “Take it. Take it all. Show me who I am when there’s nothing left to cling to.”

This trip to Alaska felt like the final chapter of that prayer. What began years ago came full circle here. The grief that surfaced on those long drives wasn’t new—it was the last remnants of what had been unraveling for years, finally asking to be witnessed, felt, and released.

Only in the past year did I realize how deeply woven these old identities were into my thoughts, actions, and choices. I couldn’t grieve what I was still unconsciously protecting. And just when I think I’ve reached clarity, another layer reveals itself. Healing, I’ve learned, is like leveling up in a video game—the challenges get trickier the deeper you go.

But this latest version of me—the one who didn’t know better, who tried so hard, who endured so much—deserves love, respect, and deep gratitude for her perseverance. Letting her go has created space for something new.

As I sit here recovering from a lingering cold, there’s a surprising sense of peace where loneliness used to live. What once felt like emptiness has softened into something spacious and welcoming. It’s contentment—quiet, steady, and whole. My mind still tries to predict sadness, longing, regret, or grief—but the emotions that would typically rise up simply aren’t there. Instead, there’s only spaciousness, a quiet expanse within me where the turbulence used to live. My path forward is still uncertain, but that uncertainty doesn’t scare me. I’m feeling everything. I’m taking accountability. And I’m walking a path of purpose, passion, and becoming.