The Long Road to Clarity

For as long as I can remember, I felt lost.

Not just in the way that people feel momentarily directionless, but in a way that hollowed me out from the inside.

I moved through life appearing confident, happy even, but it was all an act. There was no solid ground beneath my feet.

I was barely alive.

I had no sense of direction—just a desperate need to move forward, to prove myself to others.

I desperately needed life to move forward, to prove something—anything—to myself and to others.

I clung to any scrap of validation, especially from significant others.

I built my entire sense of self around the people in my life and the roles I thought I was supposed to play.

And when those roles inevitably changed, I crumbled.

I had no idea who I was beyond them. Losing an identity felt like free fall.

Every few years, I was trapped in the same recurring nightmare—falling, falling, until I hit the ground and jolted awake.

Except it wasn’t a dream. That terror of impact, that sharp, breathless panic? That was my reality.

A Flicker of Awareness

Deep down, some part of me always knew I would find my way.

But every time I started to, I overrode my own intuition.

My mind would weave intricate justifications, convincing me that my instincts were wrong.

At fifteen, I had my first real moment of clarity.

I saw, with painful clarity, how my parents and so many others didn’t truly believe in themselves.

My heart shattered.

I ached to heal that wound—not just in them, but in humanity.

If I could just find the right answers, I thought, maybe I could help. Maybe I could fix things.

That realization set me on a restless journey—reading self-help books, dissecting conversations, analyzing human behavior. Not just to help myself, but to understand people, to crack the code of human suffering.

I wanted so badly to believe in my own ability to create change.

But I couldn’t hold onto that vision. I kept sabotaging myself, slipping further into darkness.

Glimpses of Something More

At eighteen, I stumbled upon meditation.

It was a gift. A portal to something profound. And for the first time, I felt something shift.

Within weeks, I had deeply transformative experiences—visualizations so vivid I could feel them in my body.

For a few minutes, I became the bird in a story, soaring over cliffs, skimming the water.

For a few moments, I felt like I had left reality itself.

But I didn’t know how to hold this kind of wisdom. I had no patience for it to unfold naturally.

I obsessed over it, demanding every meditation be that powerful.

When they weren’t, frustration took over. I chased the feeling instead of trusting the process.

The wisdom I had touched slipped right through my fingers.

Maybe I was never meant to do something incredible.

Maybe that vision of a greater purpose was just as delusional as believing I was the bird.

Trying to Fit In

In college, I fought to create a normal experience for myself, but I always felt out of place.

I had incredible friends, but I was still the odd one—the guy who expressed feelings, who craved deep conversations.

I longed to truly know people, to experience their unguarded energy.

But that kind of connection was rare.

Ironically, I felt most at home at big parties. Alcohol lowered everyone’s walls, allowing for raw, unfiltered moments. And in those moments, I could glimpse something real in them.

Those nights felt sacred in a way that nothing else did.

Thrown Into the Real World

Then came trying to find my first “big boy” job.

Even then, I knew I wanted to do something different. I wanted meaning. And for a fleeting moment, I felt capable.

But job interviews demanded certainty—plans, five-year goals. I had none. I just knew I didn’t want a predictable life.

At twenty-two, I took a financial advising position that I wasn’t remotely prepared for.

I had fallen into it, not because I wanted it, but because it was there. I had no vision for my future. I just needed something.

That job shattered me.

I didn’t have the knowledge, the confidence, or the desire to be there.

Every day was a battle with shame.

I spiraled into the worst financial situation of my life, which would haunt me for years.

I began to believe that I was destined to struggle, that money and success would always be just out of reach.

And then, for the first time, I listened to my gut.

The First Leap of Faith

One Monday morning, I had a rare moment of clarity.

I walked into my boss’s office—no backup plan, no next step—and quit.

Just a deep, undeniable knowing that I couldn’t keep doing this.

It should have been a moment of liberation.

Instead, it just confirmed my fear: I had no direction.

Surprisingly, he was supportive.

But I still had no idea what I actually wanted. So I fell back into something safe. Again.

At the same time, I was in a relationship that, to this day, feels like a mistake.

I don’t regret most of my journey—not even realizing I was transgender later in life.

But this relationship? It still baffles me.

I was completely disconnected from myself.

I knew, from the very beginning, that it was wrong for me.

My gut screamed at me to leave. And yet, I didn’t. Because I didn’t believe I deserved better.

When Intuition Became Real

Everything changed when I met my ex-wife.

From the very first night, I knew. I had no words for it then, but for the first time in my life, I felt undeniably on the right path.

There was magic in that relationship that’s hard to put into words. Something pure, even if it was tangled with trauma bonding.

We were also experiencing something truly real.

But over time, I let my intuition fade. Old patterns took over.

I still had not proved to myself that my intuition was worth listening to.

Coming Home to Myself

The first time I truly proved my intuition to myself was in 2020, during the worst year of my life.

Sitting on a beach with my ex-wife, I said out loud that I wanted to leave New Orleans.

As we talked about where to go, the answer became obvious: Colorado.

The second I considered it, something clicked.

It was as if I had been waiting my whole life to remember this truth. I had always belonged there.

I had never even been to Colorado. I knew almost nothing about it. I just knew the resonance in my body was undeniable.

And I was right.

From the moment I arrived, I felt a kind of peace I had never known.

I cried within hours. For the first time, I felt like I belonged somewhere.

Struck by Lightning

That’s why, when my identity shattered into a million pieces, I didn’t panic.

For the first time in my life the fall didn’t jolt me awake from a nightmare.

The fall felt like that trust exercise you do as a kid where you fall into someone’s arms. I felt myself falling into the arms of the real me.

Until June 2023, I had never once considered that I might be a transgender woman.

But under the lights of a music festival, something inside me cracked open. It was like being struck by lightning.

My brain couldn’t override it this time. I felt it in every molecule of my being.

I was afraid—but not lost. Not like before.

I didn’t need to grip onto an identity. I didn’t need to fear the free-fall anymore. Because for the first time, I knew no matter what I would land in the arms of my true self.

I lost people. I lost parts of my old life. But I gained something far greater: the knowledge that no matter how much I lost I would always com back to myself.

And I have no regrets.

I don’t wish I had figured it out sooner.

I don’t wish I had listened to my intuition earlier.

Because the way my journey unfolded is beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, the way I was struck by lightning will help others see the power in trusting themselves, too.

With love,

Sabrina

Thank you again for investing in your own authenticity. I am so grateful to be on this journey with you.