Today, I was in the second bedroom again. My future yoga/meditation/office “finally a space that’s mine” room. Right now it’s a sad collection of half-filled boxes. Things I shoved in there when I didn’t feel like dealing with them. (Translation: years of “I’ll just set it right here for now.”)

Here’s the thing- when I was in there, I closed my eyes. I could see it, in that messy little room, I could see the calm. The stillness. The quiet. A space where I can breathe, pray, move and maybe even remember where I put my pens.

In that stillness, I heard the TV in the background. Rapunzel was playing, and just like that. I realized, I’ve been living like Rapunzel. Stuck in the tower, convinced I couldn’t leave. Except mother Gothel wasn’t holding me captive. I was. The fear, the anxiety, the endless questions of “why me?” and “what’s next?”. They had me locked up good.

The only way out? God- yep, the big man himself.

God as My Emergency Hotline

I’ve known Him my whole life, in the big dramatic moments. I went to my knees during fertility treatments. When I was broke and broken after quitting the “safe” job for beauty school. I was shaking with prayer during the adoption of our daughter, and for her safe trip home. I prayed through our marriage struggles and even went on a mission trip. He always showed up.

However, in the everyday? I treated Him like an emergency contact: “only dial if flames are visible.”

Yep, I had issues. Big ones. My mom had her Bible out 24/7. It was like both her path to freedom and a weapon. Meanwhile, I was just trying to survive my own issues. Her “God talk” often felt like correction and lectures, and honestly, it pushed me further away. From both her and God. I wanted no part of her version of God.

Then, this year happened. I got sick. The kind of sick that terrifies you. It cracks you open. It leaves your soul shattered all over the floor. Instead of just taping myself back together like usual. I had to actually pick up each shard, study it, and ask: “What now? Where do I go from here?”

That’s how I found my way back to yoga. Let me tell you-nothing humbles you faster than crying during warrior two. Every one else looking like they stepped out of a Lululemon ad. Yoga wasn’t just movement; it was healing. It made me see each shard of my soul. The forgotten daughter, the barren woman, the betrayed wife, the cancer survivor, the autoimmune fighter, the mother and the wife. I realized they all matter, each piece. They all belong.

Slowly, through tears, prayer, and sun salutations, I started to forgive. Myself, my bitterness and others. Even God. And wouldn’t you know it, He even had a sense of humor over my fumbling prayers. I, however, do believe we’ve made a ton of progress in our communication.

Here’s the truth of it all. The hard, the ugly, the hilarious, it has all made me strong enough to withstand, and to serve. To be of use. Whether that’s making someone feel beautiful in my salon chair, or one day guiding them through yoga, prayer and stillness. I want to help people feel lighter. Freer. Closer to God.

For me, peace looks like yoga and prayer. Strength training, meditation and journaling. And yes, finally cleaning out that second bedroom and to go for my dreams.

Sometimes freedom doesn’t look like swinging from Rapunzel’s hair. Sometimes it looks like picking up a broom, rolling out a mat and laughing at yourself along the way. Sometimes it looks like turning your worries and anxiety over to God and letting him carry the load.