A decade-old trauma resurfaced today, reminding me that recovery is both fragile and brave.

“It takes as long as it takes. Be gentle on yourself.”

These are the words I’ve lived by over the past decade — a quiet mantra that carried me through illness, healing, and the slow return to the work I love. What follows is the story of how I found my way back — to my body, my calling, and the rhythm that became WAVE.

Thanksgiving Day, 2015. I had emergency surgery—a hemicolectomy and full hysterectomy—after nearly bleeding to death from undiagnosed late-stage colorectal cancer. I was 42, with two teenagers, a five-year-old, and a three-year-old. Cancer was the last thing on my mind. In a single moment, our entire world shifted.

It took three years to recover physically. Another three to begin healing mentally. And the last three have been about putting the pieces back together and finding meaning in it all.

Now, nearly ten years later, I’m still here. Stronger than ever.

Physically, as a sailor and Yachtmaster. Mentally, as a soon-to-be MSc graduate in Integrative Therapy. And wholly, as a woman who takes up space and time to move through life on her own terms.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I know that. And I’m here to support others navigating deep change—whether it’s chosen or arrives uninvited.

With family and community, we can do hard things. Together, we grow stronger.

I wanted this trip to be about new places, about adventure, about the lightness of movement and discovery. A travel journal, filled with café stops and charming streets, salty sea air and sunsets over unfamiliar horizons. But the truth is, we don’t always get to decide what takes up space in our hearts.

Because here I am, standing at an airport gate, unable to shake the image of a young woman leaning into the man beside her, fragile but determined, taking step after step toward something unknown. And here I am, once again, feeling the weight of a battle I fought nearly a decade ago, a battle I have spent years healing from, releasing, making peace with. Yet, no matter how much time passes, some moments pull me right back.

This journey has been a series of reminders—not of where I’m going, but of where I’ve been. And no matter how much I try to keep this journal lighthearted, the truth insists on being written. Because sometimes, travel isn’t just about places. Sometimes, it’s about what we carry with us, even when we think we’ve left it behind.