This Time, I Chose Me.

Last year, everything cracked open.
And by everything I mean everything.

I couldn’t walk through the streets of my London life without bumping into her — the woman I used to be.

She haunted every coffee shop.
Every bar.
Every restuarant.


So I left.

Not to escape — but to remember.

Who I am without the noise.
Without the mirror of another.

The version of me that got buried.
The one who stopped trusting her gut whispers.
The one who forgot she was f*cking magic.

So I booked the flight to New York.
No plan.
Just a yes in my body.

I can't explain it.
It just felt "right".


Because this wasn’t about the city.
It was about the silence.
The kind that strips away the "shoulds" and gives you back your pulse.

When you travel alone, you are in charge of the itinerary.
Every choice you make, every restuarant you visit, every street corner you turn down is all for you.

Alone never felt so intimate.
No masks.
No mirrors.
Just me — with every ache, every fear, and every flicker of fcking radiance.

I didn’t “find” myself.
I remembered her.

The woman who knows peace isn’t a performance.
The one who sees beauty in the ordinary.
The one who doesn’t need someone else to feel worthy.

They talk about “doing the inner work” —
But sometimes the deepest work is sitting across from yourself at a table for one
and finally listening.

Not to the shoulds.
Not to the story.

But to the soft, sacred knowing that this life — this one — is yours to design.

This wasn’t a break from life.
This was a reclamation.
A return to the woman I built it for. 🌙

OFH Invitation:

Where would you go if you stopped asking for permission and just booked the flight.

Do that.

Book it.

Go remember... HER.

Start to OFH

M x