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“We never stop exploring. The end of all our explorations is arriving where we started and knowing it for the first time.” ~TS Eliot
When I was in my early 20s, I packed a backpack and boarded a plane alone with a one-way ticket to Southeast Asia. It was an action that baffled my father, inspired my friends, and quietly horrified me.
At the time I was drawn to something that I couldn’t quite put into words. It was a longing for freedom, truth, and a kind of belonging I didn’t yet know. What I didn’t realize then was that this two-year journey would imprint on me a version of myself that I would slowly forget over the next two decades, and then, almost surprisingly, begin to recover.
Three weeks into that trip, I found myself completely lost in northern Thailand. I wasn’t sightseeing or checking out the cultural highlights like I “should” have. I felt aimless. I feel lonely. I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t “make the most of” this experience.
The structures I was used to (school, expectations, proper planning…) were crumbling away. I was upset, as if I had made a huge mistake. Who was I to just walk around and have it mean anything?
Then I met Merrilee.
She was older, single, tanned, wrinkled, wise, and the kind of woman who could tell a story in her skin.
During our afternoon conversation in a quiet guesthouse, she helped me understand something I hadn’t yet understood: that filling time isn’t important. What mattered was being with myself. Because the lack of familiarity and structure teaches us how to listen to our inner selves. Start trusting your own rhythm and desires without external stimulation.
The kind of freedom I dreamed of first required discomfort and a willingness to stop outsourcing my self-worth to what I was doing.
That one conversation changed my entire trip. And it changed me. Forever.
For the first time, I felt connected to myself, not because I had accomplished something, but simply because I was in tune. I moved on at a comfortable pace. I made the decision out of joy, not obligation. I stopped trying to prove anything. And in the midst of a season of self-connection, I met the man who would become my husband. A new chapter rooted in love, partnership, and ultimately motherhood has begun.
And slowly, without really noticing, the image of me waking up in Thailand began to fade.
Over the years, I became a mom to two beautiful boys. I have built a stable career. I managed the household finances. In many ways, I have become the kind of adult we are told we should aspire to be: organized, reliable, efficient, and productive. I wore those traits like armor, sometimes like a badge of honor. But beneath that, there was a soft pain.
I remembered her. When she was young and just like me, she danced through temples, laughed with strangers, and trusted the moment. I saw her in a photo. I reread my journal and was surprised at how fulfilled I felt. But the distance between us seemed too far. I didn’t hate the life I had built. It felt like they built it around everyone but me.
Seasons are shaped by who needs us and how we choose to show up. And when you decide to put aside your deepest desires for the sake of another person, it can serve as a useful contrast.
Maybe that soft ache was there to remind me that raising children, caring for aging parents, and piecing together the invisible threads of a family can bring deep meaning and purpose…that it’s not all about me.
Somewhere in my early 40s, my children were almost grown and work was no longer suitable, so my agitation became even stronger. Roar and persistence.
Only this time, the package wasn’t sent halfway around the world. It led me inward. And I was ready for that now. We had the ability to respond.
I started looking for new training. I started a side hustle and it made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I gradually reduced the amount of money I dedicated to a stable job in order to spend more time on work that felt in tune with my soul. I was reawakening, but responsibilities and relationships were complicating the path.
Eventually, I realized it was time to quit my job completely. Although it was intentional, it was a leap that shook me more than I expected.
The weeks after handing in my resignation didn’t feel as liberating as I had hoped. Rather, I felt untethered, fearful, and full of doubt. Who was I now? What happens if I fail? What if this was all a naive midlife fantasy?
Any structure I could lean on – title, salary, certainty – was gone. I felt like I was falling. And then I realized I’ve been here before.
Lost, floating, what the hell am I doing? It was exactly the same emotional terrain I had traversed in Thailand. Now I have even more to lose. The fear was greater because the stakes were higher, but the lesson was ultimately the same.
Letting go of structure without losing yourself. Trust the process before you have proof that everything is going well. Trust that flow, intuition, and joy are effective guides in business as well.
This time, there was no Merrilee waiting for me on the bamboo porch. However, there was an embodied memory. I was there. There was a version of me that had gone through it once and was brought back to life because of it. The benefit of having that experience in my early twenties was more than just adventure. It was a blueprint for finding your way back when you lost your way.
I didn’t have to think about everything from scratch. I had to remember who I was when I felt most alive. What she believed. how she moved what she believed.
She didn’t need a five-year plan, a marketing funnel, or perfect clarity. She needed space. And courage. And breathe. She needed to love herself and accept that that was enough.
And I started letting that version of me take control again.
Building a business, especially one rooted in healing, service, and soul, is about more than just offers and strategies. It is a spiritual path. You are asked to meet your limits over and over again. It confronts your conditioning. It stirs up your doubts. But it also awakens your true voice, the voice that has been silenced when you’re busy being “good,” responsible, and trustworthy.
For years, I looked back on those days in Asia with a kind of awe. It’s such a nostalgic and distant memory that I can’t believe that I once lived with courage. I never thought of it as a deviation from real life, but put it in a different category, a glorious chapter that shaped me, but which I found difficult to access again.
I see it more clearly now. That moment was my true map when I wasn’t trying to be what the world wanted me to be. And now, in the middle chapter of my life, I will choose her again.
Not by backpacking around the world (though I admit it’s tempting), but by waking up every day and building a life, business, and version of yourself guided by truth, flow, and trust. It’s more scary now. But it’s also richer. Because I know what it feels like to go home.
I understand that if you don’t do that, the contrast will hurt.
Perhaps you, reading this, are standing on a similar threshold, feeling untethered, uncertain, and trying to trust the power that draws you deeper.
If so, let this be your Merrilee moment.
The path may appear blurry. You may wonder if you’re wasting your time or if it’s foolish to want more.
But what I continue to learn in new ways is that the process of coming back to yourself and reacquainting yourself with your needs is not always clear-cut. It is often confusing. With fear. With silence. With the pain of letting go.
But what awaits you on the other side of the unraveling is a more vibrant you. And that person is worth meeting again.
About Natasha Ramlal
Natasha Ramlal is a trauma-informed mind-body health practitioner. She helps people see their pain in new ways and move to more evolved levels of mental and physical health, wholeness, and healing. To learn more or collaborate with her, visit humanistcoaching.ca to get her journaling bundle and find out how this tool can help you.
