After years of virtual spaces and distanced connection, yesterday held a quiet but significant return to presence. It was my first live event since the pandemic, and it felt both familiar and entirely new.

Aligning Soul with Business was a co-created experience alongside Tash Kain—Life Coach, Business Strategist, Spiritual Mentor, Artist, and Founder of Soul Coding—and Zoe Leigh Smith, Relocation Strategist and Content Creator. Together, we curated a space designed to explore how faith, intuition, and deeper purpose can align with business strategy, offering a more meaningful and soul-rooted path to success.

Held at the stunning Château de la Mothe in Springs, St. George’s on 21st March 2025, the space itself invited reflection. Surrounded by panoramic views and a hush that felt sacred, the land held us. The stillness of the environment softened our edges and made room for something true to unfold.

And it did.

One person shared a story—tender, raw, and unfiltered. That moment shifted the room. Something opened, not just in them, but in the collective energy. One voice became the catalyst for many. What followed was not a discussion, but a deep remembering. People spoke, not from performance, but from presence. The session took on a life of its own.

We journeyed through the depths of real, human experiences. Conversations flowed about mental health and the quiet burden of intergenerational trauma. We explored what it means to break cycles, to navigate co-parenting dynamics, and to release what no longer serves us. We sat with the uncertainty of not knowing what’s next, learning how to live inside the liminal.

We reflected on the ways trauma settles into our bodies, often before we have the language to name it. We spoke about grief and care—especially when it comes to aging and dying parents—and the ache of stepping away from a life we’ve always known to build something new, unfamiliar, and aligned. There was pain in the room, but also power. There was release. There was grace.

And there was safety. A quiet knowing that this was a space where honesty could rise without fear.

What stayed with me most is this: we are made for connection. No matter who we are or what we do, we are all just trying to make sense of our lives. When one person chooses to speak from the heart, it creates resonance. That truth doesn’t just land, it lingers. It lives on in the people who received it.

That is the beauty of the human family.
We gather. We hold space. We remind each other that we are not alone.
That there is strength in softness.
That stories, even when broken, carry light.

There is healing in the telling, and even more in the listening.

I left the event deeply moved and immensely grateful. Something was awakened in that room—something I believe will continue to unfold, both within me and within the lives of those who showed up with open hearts.

May we continue to create spaces where truth is welcome,
Where presence leads the way,
And where silence is not empty, but sacred.

Stay connected to learn of upcoming events. More curated experiences are on the horizon.

—the way it transforms the raw materials of experience, thought, and emotion into something entirely new. When you take on the name “writer,” you’re doing more than describing an activity; you’re embracing a way of being in the world.

The Alchemical Elements of Writing

Medieval alchemists sought to transform base metals into gold. As writers, we transform invisible thoughts into tangible creations through a similar mysterious process:

The Prima Materia – Our raw experiences, observations, emotions, and curiosities form the base materials of our craft.

The Crucible – The quiet space where we sit with uncertainty, allowing ideas to heat, bubble, and transform.

The Transformation – Those magical moments when disconnected elements suddenly coalesce into something meaningful.

The Philosopher’s Stone – Our unique perspective that transmutes ordinary observations into extraordinary insights.

But here’s the secret that experienced writers know: the true magic isn’t in the finished work. It’s in how the practice transforms us.

Process Over Perfection

“I write to discover what I know.” — Terry Tempest Williams

The alchemy of writing isn’t about creating perfect golden artifacts—it’s about the transformation that happens within us through the process itself.

When we embody the identity of “writer,” we begin to experience the world differently:

• The mind becomes a collector, gathering fragments of conversation, the quality of light at different hours, the specific way someone gestures when explaining something they love.
• Rather than simply living through moments, we begin to simultaneously participate and observe. This dual consciousness creates a rich interior life—we’re always partly engaged in the silent work of noticing, questioning, connecting.
• We learn to welcome what arises, even (perhaps especially) when it surprises us. Some days we sit down expecting to write about love and find ourselves exploring memory instead. This surrender to the unknown is itself transformative.
• Writing teaches us patience with ambiguity. We learn to sit with half-formed ideas, to allow meaning to emerge gradually rather than grasping for quick answers.

Perhaps most importantly, writing helps us recognize that we are always in process—always becoming. The person who finishes a piece is not the same person who began it.

The Revealing Question

If all external pressures were removed—if money was not a concern, if societal expectations disappeared—what would you do every day?

For those who have truly embodied the name “writer,” the answer remains consistent no matter how the question is framed: I would write.

Perhaps differently—maybe more experimentally, or more slowly, or on topics that might not have obvious commercial appeal—but the act of writing itself remains essential.

This persistence of desire reveals that writing isn’t just something you do; it’s a fundamental way you process and engage with the world. It’s how you make meaning, how you digest experience, how you come to understand yourself and everything around you.

When the answer remains consistent across different formulations of the question, you’ve found something that isn’t contingent or superficial but central to who you are.

Carrying the Knowledge Forward

The newfound knowledge that comes from embodying your identity as a writer doesn’t stay confined to the page. It infuses how you move through the world:

• You develop a heightened awareness of detail and nuance
• You find connections between seemingly unrelated ideas
• You become more comfortable with uncertainty and the unfolding process of discovery
• You recognize patterns in human behavior and natural cycles
• You develop empathy by inhabiting different perspectives

This is the greatest alchemy of all—not just turning thoughts into words, but turning yourself into a more observant, thoughtful, and receptive human being through the practice itself.

The gold was never the finished product. The gold is who you become through the daily commitment to showing up at the page, embracing the process, and embodying the name “writer” in all its beautiful complexity.

As Terry Tempest Williams also writes: “To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones.”

To watch a man forage for dignity in filth—
it unsettles, if your heart has not hardened to stone.

“He messes up the streets,” she muttered.
“He should find work—who, in their right mind,
would dig through garbage?”

Yet her words carried more than annoyance;
they bore the weight of a world divided.
The clean and the unclean, the worthy and the waste.
I asked her, “Would you, or anyone you know,
hire him, as he is?”

Silence.

How easily we measure our own worth
against those beneath our feet.
How readily we build our thrones
on the backs of those we pity or despise.

I have stood where she stands.
Once, I too judged from my high place,
believing struggle was always a choice,
that misfortune wore a face I’d never wear.
But life humbles, unravels,
teaches through the bitter hand of experience.
I have known the slide from grace,
the sting of judgment from those
who would not lift a finger,
yet found the strength to point.

No man would make a home of hunger
if he could help it.
No man would choose a dustbin
as his daily bread.

Desperation bends even the strongest backs,
hard times make strangers of us all.
And yet, we look down from our places of comfort,
casting stones from houses built on fragile luck.
We call it choice. We call it consequence.
We call it anything but what it is—
a man, doing what he must to survive.

So the next time you pass him,
or another soul sifting through the ruins of plenty,
why not give, instead of judge?
Why not offer bread, or a kind word,
instead of the weight of your disdain?

If I am to believe the scriptures,
he is no lesser, and we are no greater.
Grace does not measure.
Love does not count coins before it gives.

So let us choose grace,
while we still have the privilege to give it.

When I launched FemmePowered, I was navigating the turmoil of leaving an abusive marriage. My writings—steeped in themes of empowerment, personal transformation, and healing from trauma—found resonance both with women locally and among the diaspora. While I initially wrote for my own catharsis, the growing response made me hope to deeply affect others. However, as a recovering perfectionist, I can now say that I began to rely too heavily on external validation. When my work echoed with success, the applause was deafening. Yet, when there was a disconnect, I grappled with feelings of discouragement and felt misaligned with my audience.

With the passage of time and the deepening of my narrative, my online engagement lessened and events paused, largely influenced by the pandemic. In the hush that enveloped the world during the pandemic’s early days, the reflective silences reminded me that the essence of my writing wasn’t about the occasional external commendation, but about tracing a journey — uniquely mine.”

I turned to the pages of my journal again, pouring out thoughts with raw intensity. When asked about the blog, which now lay in a dusty corner of the interwebs, my answer was always, “I’m on a project.” Indeed, I was — the project was me. Curious queries about events were met with a promise of “something in the works.” In reality, I was working on crafting a purposeful life, shielded from scrutiny. This introspective journey, which I kept close to my heart, enabled a type of growth that’s hard to articulate. I was thriving quietly in my lane and as a consequence, my story and writing were shifting. It was no longer about the relentless pursuit of empowerment or excellence but about mindful living, slowing down, colliding with grace, and finding inner peace. And so, this evolution brought me here—to Writing as Sanctuary, a space where words are not just a tool for empowerment but a place of refuge, renewal, and quiet transformation.

During the pandemic, amidst the chaos and isolation, I sought comfort in nurturing life. I brought home a Burgundy Rubber Plant, a trendy house plant in 2020. Although the instructions clearly recommended it for outdoor growth, a part of me, perhaps driven by many a YouTuber showing the plant doing well indoors, was determined to risk it. I envisioned the plant thriving indoors, adorning on shelf already laden with too many plants. After potting it in a fancy flowerpot I purchased Ace, I added it to the shelf, hoping that my love and care would be enough.

But plants, like us, carry their truth. Within days, its leaves yellowed and fell, mirroring my own moments when the environments I found myself in felt alien and hostile. Despite my wishes, the indoor space was suffocating for the plant, much like how certain spaces and environments can suffer our spirit. I needed to free it. So, with my neighbor’s assistance, we dig a hole and re-homed the plant in the fertile, St. David’s soil and wished it well.

On Emancipation Day, a day symbolizing freedom and new beginnings, I walked through the garden. I paused by the Rubber Plant, now planted in the ground, towering over five feet with its branches reaching out wide, and its leaves a robust burgundy. This thriving tree bore little resemblance to the wilting plant I once knew.

It struck me then. The idea of “blooming where you’re planted” might have its merits, but it isn’t universally applicable. Just as the Rubber Tree needed the right soil, light, and space, so did I. Throughout my life, I’ve been placed in situations and environments that were far from nurturing. I’ve been confined, limited, and sometimes, hidden from the light that would let me grow. Yet, with each reinvention of myself, I was essentially repotting, seeking a space where I could truly flourish.

In truth, we shouldn’t merely bloom where we’re planted. We should have the courage to uproot, move, and find a place where we can grow unbounded. For those of us who have survived trauma, this isn’t just about flourishing; it’s about reclaiming our space and writing our own narrative. And sometimes, that means moving to a place where we can finally, truly breathe.

Today, I think of the two adages not as opposing forces, but as complementary lessons. There are times when perseverance is necessary, when adapting to the environment you’re in is the only option. But it’s equally crucial to recognize when change is not just an option but a necessity.

Looking back, I understand that the garden doesn’t bind the plant; the plant seeks the garden. And in that seeking, in that journey, we find places and soils where we don’t just bloom – we thrive. For me, it was no longer about blooming where I was planted, but about planting myself where I could truly bloom.

Life’s journey isn’t always about blooming steadfastly where one is placed. It’s about recognizing when the soil beneath isn’t nourishing enough, when the light above isn’t warm enough, and having the courage to move towards a place that is. Through journaling and creative writing, I’ve unearthed this profound truth, and it has been liberating. We are all, in our own ways, seeking that perfect patch of earth where our roots can spread without restraint and our spirits can soar unburdened. And in that search, we find our most fertile selves.

I want to feel both the beauty and the pain of the age we are living in. I want to survive my life without becoming numb. I want to speak and comprehend words of wounding without having these words become the landscape where I dwell. I want to possess a light touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars.

– Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds

When Women Were Birds is one of the most inspiring books I’ve read for 2020. The first time I read the paragraph above, my soul vibrated in resonance. This is the impact I desire for my words – a touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars. 

Yet I wondered how I’d accomplish such a feat when I fear I’d forgotten the shape of words. You see sometimes, if I let myself go quiet in my soul and heart, it feels like I’ve forgotten how to write from my innermost place.

There’s a nameless thing resting in the space between my heart and throat since the start of this pandemic. I can’t fathom or explain it. It surges at the most inappropriate times, like now, when the sun has long retired, outside is still, and all I can hear is the hum of the fridge and the cicadas sharing their songs. I want sleep, not this feeling. That nameless thing may be fear. But I think, if I put pen on paper and explore my inner landscape, I’ll see it is loss.

In Prophetic Imagination, Walter Brueggemann said that for renewal to come, one must grieve the loss. In order to receive a fresh start, one must mourn what has been lost. I now know that nothing beats a global pandemic to get one to deeply evaluate their life. In the last two weeks, I discovered there was a loss I had not grieved. It surprised me that I had not, as the loss and the circumstances surrounding it was a definitive moment in my life. Realizing residue from the past was still lingering brought on a bout of disappointment the likes I cannot recall experiencing. I woke the next morning with disappointment on my chest like a boulder, and a palpable sense of despondence.

I tried to recall that God makes all things new in his own time, but at the same time, I just wanted the wait to be over. I wanted my all-things-new now. I felt they were past due. But did I did deserve this newness? Maybe I missed them because of a lack of judgment, fear, or poor choices. At the same time, how could I get past what I didn’t even grieve? I had to face the loss or be consumed by the internal storm that threatened to engulf me.

As I named the thing ‘loss’, I felt the desire to write. I grabbed my journal, put pen to paper, and almost like muscle memory, words formed. I wrote with reckless abandon as I used to, without fear and self-censorship. Specks of story that have been too nebulous to grab hold of now rushed on to the paper. By naming the thing loss, words that had only bubbled beneath the surface, burst free in pen strokes.

Who am I in light of this loss and my own failures?

Of late I’ve been questioning who I am, who I am meant to be, and how near or far I am from becoming her. I have been reflecting on how desires and the questions I ask myself direct my life and choices. Even as I near the big 4-0, I want to know my identity and to root down into who I am meant to be. I want more than anything to become her before I give up this mortal coil. I’ve been getting up each day to face those nameless things. I do this by sitting down and exploring the story burning in my bones, begging for permission to leave my subconscious and be revealed in ink. I’m learning to make peace with the past.

As I write, I begin to understand how words settle into your soul and never let you rest until you give them time, place, and attention. As I write, I feel myself remembering who I am. In fact, not just who I am, but who I have always been at my core. I remember the me I was before life broke me open and time sealed me up without treating to the place the loss entered. As my fingers numb and my wrist stiffen, I realize that for me, writing is more than expression, it is an exercise in facing my truth and coming home to myself.

Resources and links mentioned on the episode:

• Follow Carlana on Instagram
• Get FemmePowered’s newsletter
• Listen to the episode

If you enjoyed this episode, please share it using the social media buttons you see on this page and consider leaving a review. They do matter in the rankings of the show, and I will read each and every one of them. You can listen on the site and comment on each post.  And don’t forget to listen to or subscribe to the show on Anchor, Breaker, Pocket Casts, Google Podcasts, or Spotify to get automatic updates. It’s free! You can also come back to the blog for weekly episodes.

Resources and links mentioned on the episode:

• Follow Carlana on Instagram
• Get FemmePowered’s newsletter
• Listen to the episode

If you enjoyed this episode, please share it using the social media buttons you see on this page and consider leaving a review. They do matter in the rankings of the show, and I will read each and every one of them. You can listen on the site and comment on each post.  And don’t forget to listen to or subscribe to the show on Anchor, Breaker, Pocket Casts, Google Podcasts, or Spotify to get automatic updates. It’s free! You can also come back to the blog for weekly episodes.

Resources and links mentioned on the episode:

• Follow Sachkia on Instagram
• Get Sachkia’s newsletter
• Listen to the episode
• Marcus, Martin, and Minneapolis
• The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma

If you enjoyed this episode, please share it using the social media buttons you see on this page and consider leaving a review. They do matter in the rankings of the show, and I will read each and every one of them. You can listen on the site and comment on each post.  And don’t forget to listen to or subscribe to the show on Anchor, Breaker, Pocket Casts, Google Podcasts, or Spotify to get automatic updates. It’s free! You can also come back to the blog for weekly episodes.

Resources and links mentioned on the episode:

• Visit Deya’s YouTube channel
• Follow Deya on Instagram
• The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma

If you enjoyed this episode, please share it using the social media buttons you see on this page and consider leaving a review. They do matter in the rankings of the show, and I will read each and every one of them. You can listen on the site and comment on each post.  And don’t forget to listen to or subscribe to the show on Anchor, Pocket Casts, or Spotify to get automatic updates. It’s free! You can also come back to the blog for weekly episodes. Episode 3, Race & Rage – A Caribbean Perspective will be released next Sunday.