This past weekend was a doozy.

Lately, I’ve been moving through life with more flow than force. The Year of the Snake asked me to shed, not things, but patterns. Beliefs. Stories. Perspectives that no longer served me. Some of that shedding was painful, some of it has been profoundly freeing. And just as I thought I was working towards the tail of this snaking year, I had an experience that grounded my focus for 2026 and opened a new awareness as I prepare to enter the Year of the Horse.

Anyone who knows me knows I love dogs. Truly, I love animals fiercely. I advocate for their safety and well-being, always have. I have three pets waiting for me in heaven and two earth-side with me now. I’ve volunteered in shelters, and there isn’t a dog or cat in my neighborhood that hasn’t received a pet, a soft word, or my full heart.

On Friday, while I was working, my youngest earth-side fur baby started acting off. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. What we thought might be bloat turned into an urgent rush between hospitals, an ultrasound, and finally the words no pet parent wants to hear: severe blockage. Surgery was the only option.

We’ve been here before. Years ago, my male bully almost didn’t make it through something similar. So yes, I was a ball of nerves. Fear was loud. And yet… something was different this time.

I’ve done a lot of healing over the years. A lot of unlearning. It’s one thing to talk about nervous system regulation and embodiment, it’s another thing to live it when life actually happens. This felt like a final exam I didn’t know I was studying for. I’ve worked hard to come out of survival mode, to feel my feelings instead of bypassing them, to soften, to listen to my body, to pause.

My adrenaline was high. I was wrecked. But the beauty revealed itself in the moments I let myself feel.

My stomach hurt when I needed to cry.
My throat tightened when I needed to ask for help.
My heart ached when I needed to slow down.

When crisis hits, it’s easy to default to survival, to do what you’ve always done. Avoid. Power through. Control. But this time, I integrated without even realizing it. I didn’t abandon myself. I practiced flow in real time.

I breathed. A lot.
I paused. Over and over.
I trusted that the prayers I whispered would reach God and be heard.

I asked my husband for help and let him lead. No superwoman act. No carrying everything alone. Just presence. Trust. Surrender.

And while this experience was incredibly hard, it cracked me open with gratitude.

Our sweet Gemma is home now, resting after a two-day hospital stay and major abdominal surgery. Life is fragile. Nothing is promised. God is good. Asking for help is not weakness. Receiving it is how love and miracles move through us.

This weekend stripped me down to what’s real: breath, trust, love, presence. It reminded me that healing isn’t about avoiding pain, it’s about meeting it without abandoning yourself.

I’m not entering 2026 hardened by what happened. I’m entering softer, clearer, and more anchored in my body than ever before. The snake taught me how to shed. The horse will teach me how to move free, connected, and unafraid.

Stripped a little more, yes. But also grounded. Awake. I’m crossing the threshold: Open, grateful, and soft.