Who Do I Want To Be In This Experience?

"Who do you want to be in this experience?"

I heard these words in a voice note from a dear friend, and they stopped me in my tracks.

She kept speaking, but I only heard this one sentence.

I observed how my whole body responded. I felt immediately more relaxed and empowered. It was as if someone had poured a golden liquid of self-authority from above, and it was working its way down through my body, filling every cell.

I could feel it.

"So I actually have a choice?" I asked myself.

"Yes, of course I do. Always," I answered.

The familiar inner dialogue moved for a moment between different parts of myself.

I am not someone who normally shares my sorrows or worries. I share almost everything else abundantly, but my inner landscape is mine to walk through. My own private playground where no one is really invited unless they can be completely trusted.

This sense of control is how I keep things safe, worried that whatever challenges I share will make them bigger, that they will somehow get out of control...

It feels like holding my breath.

Uncomfortable, and exhausting.

But then, the moment I open up, I can feel myself breathing out, just a little, slowly.

It feels lighter. My shoulders and neck relax.

And when I know that someone is holding space for me, that someone cares enough to offer an invitation to reflect—with love and full trust in me—I feel myself finally breathing in.

A deep breath that travels all the way down to my belly.

A breath that brings every cell to life.

So, who do I want to be in this experience? I wondered.

It's not great right now.

I look at the different parts of my life and I feel tired.

Tired of worrying whether everything will go well.

Tired of trying to control things that cannot be controlled.

Tired of carrying invisible buckets from one side of my life to the other.

Tired of the pace at which we live these days.

And just like that, with a single sentence, this invitation brings me back to life.

Why?

Because there is a feeling of limitless possibility within it.

I observe it and it feels true.

What feels untrue is the illusion of smallness I have created for myself.

And if I am not this tired, struggling version of myself, who am I?

The moment I ask that question, something shifts.

My friend mentions a lighthouse, and my imagination runs wild.

I see it all.

I see myself holding a candle, gently, carefully.

Then I become the candle itself, feeling the warmth of my own flame flickering happily, dancing in the darkness.

Then I transform into a lighthouse—tall, rooted, my foundations anchored deep within the earth.

I face the vast ocean.

Fearless.

Calm.

I can feel the breeze on my face. The wind swirls around me, and I allow myself to be embraced by it.

There is a sense of calm confidence within me.

I bow to every wave and every storm with grace and acceptance, free from resistance or judgment, trusting the ever-changing nature of life.

And when darkness comes, I am the light.

I am the light itself.

But I am also a light for others, guiding them home.

And this brings me joy.

So yes.

This is who I choose to be in this experience.

The rooted lighthouse.

Not the one who tries to control the storm.

The one who shines through it.

With love,

Ewelina - The Alchemist Parent