I look past everyone and see Sarah and Luke towards the back. “You know where I’ll be!” Sarah yells. She’s so beautiful with her hand on her belly, and her long dark hair draping her shoulder in a loose braid. She’s due in a few weeks. These days she and Luke rush straight to the Nourish Room after yoga, and then she goes to one of the hammocks outside to take a nap. I remember those days when I was pregnant. I took so many naps and ate every hour or so. I feel a sting in my chest as I remember the days and weeks after I gave birth. I couldn’t even enjoy each sweet moment because I was a sleep-deprived, burnt-out wreck, so stressed from having to go back to work full-time after only six weeks of maternity leave. That seems like a lifetime ago.
Luke guides Sarah out the door with his fingertips on her lower back. Helen and Kyle are their other halves. The lovebirds all wave and blow kisses to me from across the room as they exit. They know it’s hit or miss if I’ll meet up with them. Sometimes, or I should say most of the time, I like going on a walk by myself and taking in the peace and quiet between group activities. These days, I give myself permission to tune in and do self-care, even if it means going against the grain.
The class scatters and shuffles out one by one, carrying their rolled-up mats, some slipping on flip-flops, others staying barefoot. I shut off the sound and light system once the room has cleared out.
“Mom, can I go paddle boarding after lunch? Jake and Jane said they can take us,” Lily asks from across the room. I turn around and see her sandwiched between the twins. There’s not a trace of shyness in her voice.
“You can,” I say. I smile to myself as I watch her confidence standing before me. Jake and Jane are just past them, and we send each other a thumbs-up. “I’m going for a walk and I’ll be in Surfer’s Garden if you need anything. And make sure you have your bag with you, because it’s Dad and Emma’s night tonight,” I tell her. “He closes his office around five today, and Emma will pick you up from the taxi boat about a half an hour after that.”
After Dylan passed the bar exam, he met Emma and I love her. She’s good for him. She helped him quit drinking and pull out of the depression he was in for about two years after the quake. She’s wonderful with Lily, and it’s the greatest gift. We haven’t gotten to the point of all of us being on hanging out terms, and we might never get there. But I’m happy Dylan’s smiling and taking care of himself these days. I realize we were in each other’s lives for a particular time and for a particular reason.
Lily’s bag is already on her shoulder. “Got it, Mom. Love you!” she says and disappears with the twins. I love you too, my angel, I say to her telepathically.
I grab my tote bag, which holds my water bottle and the veggie wrap I made this morning. I slide my feet into my sandals and head out of the Raw Room and along the island’s pathway. I follow the sandy ground with the ocean to my right and a sea of grass to my left. I run my fingers through my chin-length hair, feeling the palm of my hand resting on the back of my neck. It’s been a couple years now and I still can’t believe I chopped it all off. I smile to myself.
I reach into my bag and pull out my wrap, peeling away the parchment paper to unveil my favorite lunch in the entire world: an avocado sprout wrap with vegan bacon. I experimented with the aioli sauce, and I’m pretty sure I’ve perfected it. It has a crunch and smoothness as I savor it in my mouth.
I take in the sweet and salty flavors as I walk past the Focus Room. The muffled voice of the new intern leaks out of the room. She’s finishing up one of the island’s favorite groups. It’s called “Run For Your Mind, Write For Your Life.”
Those words are pure gold for self-care. They start with a short standing meditation to practice redirecting their attention to the breath and to state their intention for the run. Then they do a three-hour run/write marathon, where they run a mile, come back to the Focus Room and write for 45 minutes with the guided discipline of the facilitator. Then they run another mile, write some more, and repeat the cycle. Even if someone wants to run faster or slower, or write for shorter or longer, they all maintain the same pace to support one another.
A newer group we started a few weeks ago is called VRIC, Virtual Reality for the Inner Child. We created a Virtual Reality program where couples and families do therapy sessions in a revolutionary way. They put on VR goggles, and when they are emotionally unsettled, I ask how old they’re feeling. Some may say they feel like a toddler having a tantrum, while others may identify with being an obstinate teen. Through the artificial intelligence, they can see the other person as the age they are acting. They get to see how they’ve emotionally regressed, and can have empathy for the other person. Then they do their own Inner Child work by working through those core issues of self-esteem and attachment needs.
When I reach the grassy area with the wooden sign I painted with the words Surfer’s Garden, I slip off my sandals. At the edge, near the water, racks hold surfboards and paddle-boards for anyone to borrow. A blue and green-striped hammock awaits me. I climb awkwardly into it, no matter how many times I’ve laid there. I feel myself floating mid-air and swinging slightly.
“Good afternoon, Jelina!” One of the island regulars waves to me as he walks by.
“Hey, Tom!” I wave back. I’ve gotten used to the attention by now, although I still blush from being in the spotlight. Somehow I’ve become a celebrity around here. I don’t know how that happened. I’m still doing the same things I’ve always done: love my kid, run therapy groups, listen to Jack Johnson. But after the earthquake, after all that death and loss and destruction and fear, and after my divorce, came this renaissance - this rebirth of my life, of Lily’s life, of so many of our lives.
Palm trees and plants surround the island. My favorites are the ones called “Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow” because of the three colors of the flowers. From spring to summer, they transform from dark purple to light purple to white. I think back to how things were so different and I never thought I’d get out of that stuck existence. And now I see that everything grows and morphs and transforms. Everything. We’re all in this garden that’s being planted and growing and blossoming and dying and replanted and growing. We’re in this endless cycle of death from what we no longer need, and replanting anew.
I can see my art therapy work displayed on the digital screen we had installed a week ago. It alternates displaying various artwork every 30 seconds. When the earthquake happened, I didn't have time to grab a single thing. The painting I made was in a PTSD process group a friend of mine facilitated. It was of a memory that replays in my mind every single day.
The scene is a view overlooking Santa Monica Beach, with the pier and roller coaster on the left and sailboats floating along the horizon on the right, and me in the middle, sitting on the green bench, awaiting the moment I was going to see Natalia. I went through so many days of intense tears, stinging heartache. But I could always close my eyes and be right back there, 35 years old, smelling the ocean water, feeling the Santa Monica breeze, sitting at the Sunkissed Café, listening to Italian music.
I quiet my mind and I can feel Natalia's arms slowly wrapping around me like the very first time, the smell of her skin, and the sound of her saying gently, “You made it. Keep going.” It's like a video clip I can replay every day. I feel a tear rolling down my cheek.
I take a deep breath, and open my eyes. Acceptance. Powerlessness. I’m so grateful to have even known a love like that. The quake may have taken her away from me, but nothing could ever take away our memories, and our soul connection.
I miss you.
Chapter Seventeen: Breathe Me
The sun is setting and Lily’s standing in the shallow end of the pool with the twins, and they’re all playing entertaining the younger kids. They’ve turned a boogie board upside down and are doing magic tricks with cups on top, giggling. She’s so funny, smart, playful, outgoing and confident, leading the other children in groups and teaching them dances. I watch her eyes follow a butterfly
for a moment, and I know she’s thinking of Miss Kayla. There are moments in life when we’re meant to keep the cameras down, and we’re meant to keep pictures in our minds. This is one of those moments.
I stand up and stroll along the path towards the water’s edge. The one bench that survived the quake sits up ahead. It’s the same green bench I remember sitting on when I was a little girl looking out at a much different, but similar, view. I reach it and settle in, letting its solid back hold me up.
I don't know what it is about the ocean, but it's always been a powerful and magical safe haven for me. Maybe it's the comforting quiet that comes with the rhythm of the waves crashing in the background, or that somehow just by feeling the sand beneath me and letting my eyes gaze across the water and the sky, any worry I have seems small in contrast.
I feel pure freedom in this very moment. Freedom to me means not feeling trapped, knowing our choices and feeling empowered, being able to have breathing room, not being forced to do anything I don’t want to do. The more control we have over ourselves, the easier it is to let things go in our lives. The faint sound of the waves outside my window are conducting the rhythm of my breath.
I lean forward and grab the bench seat underneath me. My hand feels something smooth under my seat. Oh my God! No way.
I reach underneath the seat and there it is. The envelope is still stuck there. I can’t believe it! Those words and thoughts survived everything! My heart is beating faster. I peel open the envelope and pull the soft paper. Tears roll down my cheeks.
October 4, 1993
Dear Big Me,
I’m scared. I’m smaller and younger than the other kids in class. Miss Vikki is nice, but she says I’m too shy. My best friend is Tina and I like her. We eat lunch together and play and write in our journals everyday. I don’t like going to Daddy’s. I don’t know why. My uncle is weird. I need you to take care of me. Will I be ok? I wish I could be a grown up so I could go away and feel safe. Please take care of me and don’t forget about me.
Love, Little Me
I’m no longer neglecting my inner child - myself. History doesn’t have to repeat itself when we let ourselves lean into vulnerability and have to courage to change it.
I swear I can hear someone playing Jack Johnson on a guitar as I walk closer the water. My heart skips a beat. The familiar song combined with this letter in my hands gives me goosebumps. I follow the sounds and end up at the dock. As the guitar sounds get louder, I see that it’s one of the guys from my yoga class this morning. Some things have remained a consistent thread to our past, and for a moment I’m transported back to the days I’d walk right by my dad and sensed there was some kind of connection and yet had no idea at the time. Funny. Life really is a dream, isn’t it? I smile to myself.
I let my flip-flops take me along the wooden beams of the dock, listening to them creak with each step. It’s perfect right now. There isn’t a boat moving on the water, and the waves are gently kissing the shore. I reach the edge of the dock and sit, letting my feet dangle in the cool water, as I bring my back down to lay flat, with my arms resting along my sides.
The guitar melody is now a different one. I can’t quite place it, but I know this one. I feel the warm ocean air against my skin. A tear rolls down my cheek when I recognize it. “Breathe Me” continues to flow through my ears and my eyes close and I just listen. That chapter of my life, so long ago now, comes flooding back to me. Natalia and I had that magical experience in the sound bath together. It’s as if I can feel her on my skin right now as I remember when her fingertips first touched mine.
“Don’t neglect your happiness for anyone. You can live happier beyond your wildest dreams.” Her words still move me all these years later, just like they did when she first said them to me. I slowly glide my fingertips against each other, taking her memory in. I open my eyes to look up at the starlit sky. The sky looks like something straight out of an Impressionist painting at the Getty—colorful and glowing blends of blues and oranges, as if an artist just swirled their paintbrush and I can see their broad strokes overhead.
I pull myself up to sit, with my palms behind me on the dock holding me up. I look out at the moon hitting the water. It’s more and more beautiful every night. I close my eyes, slowing down my breath and my thoughts, letting my mouth open slightly. The warm ocean breeze grazes my tongue and every cell of my skin, and I take in the serenity of this moment.
Natalia's arms slowly wrap around me from behind like she used to do. It feels like a dream—one I’ve had a thousand times. My whole body softens as I smell her hair, and my neck gets chills from the tingle of her breath. The swirls of excitement and anxiety are exhilarating. “Baby,” her lips are near my ear and my skin feels her whisper. “You made it. Keep going.”
If you or someone you care about is suffering from marital or relationship issues, anxiety, depression, or medicating feelings with drugs or alcohol, please reach out for professional help. You’re not alone, and it can get better.
In the United States:
www.psychologytoday.com
U.S. Mental Health Crisis Hotline 800-448-3000
Outside of the United States:
Search for a mental health professional in your area.
Acknowledgements
To go from “I’d like to write this story someday” to “My book is finished” is a bit surreal. - And a novel, at that. I have some very special people I’d like to express my gratitude towards who made this book possible.
Thank you, Sabrina. You are the most incredible human I know, and I’m lucky enough to get to call you my daughter. You inspire me everyday, remind me to live in the moment, to let go of overthinking, and to lean into life whole-heartedly. I love you from the bottom of my heart.
Mom and Jim, how do I say thank you for everything? I guess just like that. And for supporting me with all the random ideas I get and for being the safety net in my life.
Jeff Blume, thank you for being the least judgmental person I’ve met and for your persistent encouragement, insights, and wisdom and for endlessly believing in me and my dreams.
To my dear friends who inspire me, encourage me, and accept me as I am and could see me finishing this thing long before I ever thought I would, especially
Thasja, Holly, Sunny, JACS, Jenny and Lisa.
To the editors at Kevin Anderson and Associates, thank you for helping me comb through my very rough drafts.
To my clients, I’m grateful you let me in and let me walk alongside you through your journeys.
To you, the reader. It’s an honor that I can share the ideas in my mind straight to yours in this manner. Thank you for reading and listening. I hope this story inspires you to never neglect your happiness, never give up, and to do everything you can to take care of yourself and live healthier and happier beyond your wildest dreams.
Keep going,
Angela
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