Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

I’m not exactly sure when things began to change.

Looking back, I can’t point to a single moment when the fog lifted or the truth became clear. But if I had to mark a beginning—a first crack in the illusion—I think it started the morning I had what I now understand was an anxiety attack.

We were getting ready for work.
It started like so many other mornings: an argument. I don’t even remember what triggered it. What I do remember is being told—again—what I had supposedly said. Something I had no memory of saying. Something that didn’t even sound like me.

I told him I didn’t recall that conversation. I said, gently, that it wasn’t something I would say.

His voice rose. His face hardened.
He accused me of always doing this—of undermining him, of twisting the truth, of never admitting when I was wrong. I stood there confused, flooded with self-doubt. Not because I believed him, but because I couldn’t make sense of how our realities were so different.

I tried to calm things down. I didn’t want the kids to wake up to yelling. I apologized—even though I didn’t understand what I was apologizing for. I said, “OK, OK,” hoping it would end.

And then it happened.
The room tilted. My vision sparkled with glittering stars. I couldn’t catch my breath. I sat on the edge of the bed, lowered my head, and waited for the dizziness to pass. My body was shutting down under the weight of something I couldn’t yet name.

Eventually, he noticed something was wrong and quieted.
It passed. But I didn’t forget.

My grandmother had died young from a brain aneurysm, so I got a medical workup. Everything was normal.

A few weeks later, I was in the dentist’s chair when my heart began to race uncontrollably. I felt like I would faint. They paused the procedure, gave me food, tried again. It kept happening. Eventually, I ended up in the emergency room with a new diagnosis: supraventricular tachycardia (SVT)—a dangerously fast heart rhythm.

It happened several more times after that. Each episode terrified me. My vision would cloud, my body would buzz, and my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. But I never lost consciousness.

After a full cardiac workup came back normal, I was prescribed medication to control the episodes. But I also did what I always do when afraid: I researched. I read everything I could find on SVT and how to manage it without medication.

At the top of every list? Eliminate stress.

That felt laughable. How could I eliminate stress when I was drowning in it? When the walls of my own home were lined with eggshells I walked across daily?

Still, I took the advice to heart.
I cut caffeine. I stopped drinking alcohol. I began to exercise regularly and take better care of my physical body. And without realizing it, I also began a deeper journey—one that would ultimately lead me into the hardest work of my life.

The journey back to myself.

This was the first time I began to wonder if something was deeply wrong—not with my heart, but with my life. My marriage. My emotional reality. My truth.

This was the first flicker of awareness.

And awareness, as I would come to learn, is the first fragile step toward freedom.