I’m Here
My car broke down again.
This time on a Saturday night around 11:30pm, while I was picking up my son from work.
At this point, I think I’ve finally surrendered the embarrassment — the shame, the frustration, the “why me?” — the echoes of my mother’s judgment that I’ve carried my entire life. The belief that if something goes wrong, it must somehow be my fault. The idea that I should be doing more, looking more put-together, being more in control.
But there I was at midnight, standing outside my car in leopard print pajama pants and Birkenstocks with socks — because honestly, who dresses up to pick up their son at 11:30 at night? I had plans to crawl into bed the second I got home. You know… where I actually belonged.
Instead, I found myself watching my hazard lights blink into the darkness.
And for a moment, I wanted to assign it meaning.
I wanted to ask, “What’s the lesson this time?”
Because that’s what I do, and the leading force in my own personal growth.
I look for the purpose in everything — the signs, the symbols, the deeper message.
But a friend said to me, “Maybe there isn’t a lesson. Maybe it’s just shitty luck with a shitty car.”
And maybe she’s right.
But something else happened the next day that struck me deeper than any breakdown ever could.
About eight years ago, I took a class that included a guided meditation — one where we met our “future self.”
I remember every detail.
I remember how she looked at me.
How grounded she felt.
How certain and calm and strong I felt in her presence.
After class, I sat in my car in the parking lot and wrote down every step, every sensation, every scene. I didn’t want to forget it because, even then, it felt like truth. It felt like home.
And the other night, as I stood in my kitchen preparing food — something stopped me mid-movement.
A flash.
A knowing.
A whisper inside me saying:
I’m here.
Not in the future.
Not someday.
Not “once everything is fixed.”
But right now.
In this life.
Doing the work I feel called to do.
Living the purpose I envisioned for myself all those years ago.
Even with the car trouble.
Even with bills due.
Even with fear sitting in my chest.
Even with the exhaustion of doing this life on my own.
I’m here.
Like a scene from a movie, a thought popped into my head:
“I’m here.”
Not in the perfect version of my life.
Not with everything resolved.
Not with every piece fitting neatly into place.
But here — in the raw, real, messy, beautiful middle of becoming who I’m meant to be.
I’m angry.
I’m scared.
And this is a lot for one person to hold.
But I’m also proud.
I’m growing.
I’m rising.
And I’m doing what I love, every single day.
This path asks a lot of me.
It asks for belief, even when things fall apart.
It asks for resilience, even when I’m tired.
It asks for faith, even when the evidence hasn’t shown up yet.
And most importantly…
It asks me to protect my energy fiercely.
Because when you’re building something from the ground up — a life, a business, a sense of self — you can’t afford to surround yourself with people or situations that drain you, confuse you, or weaken your belief in what you’re creating.
Sometimes protecting your energy means stepping back.
Sometimes it means walking away.
Sometimes it means choosing silence over explanation.
And sometimes it means saying, “I’m here — and I’m not going backwards.”
I’m Here. And I’m Not Done.
My life isn’t perfect.
My car still might break down tomorrow.
My fears still show up uninvited.
My heart still aches from things I haven’t fully healed.
But I’m here.
Right where my past self saw me.
Right where I’m meant to be.
Doing work I believe in.
Raising children I love.
Becoming the woman I prayed I’d one day have the courage to become.
And if you’re reading this… maybe you’re…
In the messy middle.
In the moment where everything feels hard but something deep inside whispers:
“Don’t give up. You’re closer than you think.”
I’m here.
You’re here.
We’re doing this.
One imperfect, courageous step at a time.
XO,
Laura
