“When a flower doesn’t bloom, you have to deal with the environment in which it grew, not the flower itself.” ~ Alexander den Heyer
I still remember the girl from before. It’s light, full of life, and in constant motion – like a little vortex of joy swirling around the house. I have this rhythm inside me that dances effortlessly between curiosity and wonder. I would tap dance in the kitchen, counting how many times I could spin before I lost my balance.
The world feels vast, endless, and open. I don’t just see beauty in the grandeur of things. I find it in small moments and delicate objects, like that little glass bird on my sofa table, a small part of my world that always feels so fragile, so full of wonder.
When I was a child, I never doubted that there was more to life than what I could see. I have a deep connection with the world and the beauty that lies within it. When I do housework, I hold the bird in my hands and carefully dust away the dust around it. It’s simple, transparent, nothing special, but in my eyes it sparkles with meaning.
That sense of relaxation and awe stayed with me for a long time. But along the way, things started to change.
By the time I was in my thirties, I had built a life that seemed perfect on the surface. I work hard to create it. I am meticulous, organized and focused. I followed the steps I thought I was supposed to do: a well-paying corporate job, a nice house, two kids, vacations—the kind of life that people would envy.
On Facebook, we look like the ideal family, smiling on the beach, posting about our Florida trip, standing in front of our towering house with that gleaming SUV parked in the driveway. But beneath the surface, I was falling apart.
The sense of relief and wonder that once danced freely within me was gone. I replaced it with structure, control, and a constant need to have control over everything.
I would lie awake at night with my head filled with numbers and doing calculations over and over again. The debt we accumulated was crushing, and every bonus I earned was spent before it even hit the account. I would add up the bills in my head over and over again, hoping that if I did the math again the numbers would somehow change and the debt would somehow decrease, but it didn’t. I feel suffocated under the weight of it all.
Outside, I kept up appearances. I go to work, manage my family, and keep smiling. But behind closed doors, I was devastated.
I would cry in the shower so no one could hear me. I cry in the car, on the way to work, in moments when I’m supposed to be “busy,” and as a working woman, it all comes together. Then at night, after my husband and kids were asleep, I would lie in bed and cry silently into my pillow because I realized that despite everything I had built up, I was still in pain and it was killing me measures.
One day, I was driving to work early in the morning and saw the sun just rising. The sky was that deep, almost black shadow before dawn, and then, there it was—the light. I had seen the same light thousands of times before, but this time, it felt different to me.
I remember thinking, at least one day i will die. At least one day, I won’t feel like this anymore. The thought of my death didn’t scare me – it brought me comfort. This pain, this life that feels like a trap won’t last forever…and this feels like a relief.
In that moment, a quiet truth began to take shape: Something had to change. I couldn’t continue to live like this, seeking comfort in places that would only deepen my pain. Somewhere along the line, I lost myself, drifting in an unhappy, unstable marriage, bound by a fear of judgment, a lack of self-worth, and an overwhelming pressure to please everyone but myself.
The thought of leaving paralyzed me, so I looked for comfort everywhere. In dark moments, the thought of my own mortality, and even fleeting thoughts of my husband, seemed to give a strange sense of relief. But I knew none of these were answers—they were just signs of how lost and trapped I had become, longing to find a way to relieve the pain but not knowing how.
The truth is, it’s not freedom from life that I need; This is freedom from inner pain. What I want is not to escape, but to find my light again, to find the parts of me that were once dancing in my life, open and filled with joy.
She’s still there, buried under years of silence and stress, waiting to be rediscovered. I knew that if I didn’t change, I risked losing her forever–losing myself. Therefore, this realization became a turning point, calling me to rise from within and find the light I thought I had lost.
It took me several years—therapy, coaching calls, coffee with friends, journaling, crying, and rediscovering myself—but slowly, I began to peel back the layers. The walls I built around my heart, the walls I thought were protecting me, were actually suffocating me. I took them down bit by bit, and with each wall falling, more light started to shine in.
Then, I met my now husband. He was not part of the plan. I had been so focused on fixing myself, healing myself, that I never expected to find someone in the midst of it all who could see me, truly see me. But He is willing to walk with me on this journey in His love and patience. With him, I learned to let in more light.
But life is not over testing me. After all the healing and rebuilding, I lost my dad. His death was like another wall coming down, not like the others – this wall was different. It’s not a wall I built, but it is a wall that binds me to the past, to who I was.
Sorting through his things and looking through the house where I grew up, I found the little glass bird. Still intact. All these years later, all the movements, all the changes, that fragile little bird is still there. I realized a few things: I’m still here too.
I’ve been through so much—divorce, rebuilding, loss—but my light, the light that had been buried for so long, was still there. It’s always been there. And now, after all the pain, after all the walls came down, that light was finally shining freely again.
I am the light. The light hidden beneath years of expectation and pain is always within me. Now, after all the healing, all the work on myself, I can see it so clearly. Light is me, light is you. We all have that light within us, no matter how deep it is buried, no matter how dark it feels. It’s there, waiting for us to make it shine.
This is your moment. Your light is waiting, as is my light. It has always been there and always will be there. All you have to do is let the walls come down bit by bit and watch your light shine brighter than you ever imagined.
About Molly Rubesh
Molly Rubesh is a life coach and author who helps women embrace their true power and live a heart-led life. After going through divorce, grief, and career changes, she now guides others to let go of their fears and follow their hearts. Get her free guide, How to Find Your Authentic Self: A Guide to Being Unfashionable, to release your fears, shed your labels, and step into your authentic self.
