The Space Between Endings and Beginnings
In 2019, my life unraveled in a way that felt both difficult and eerily orchestrated. It was a week where everything seemed to collapse at once—my relationship, my job, and the fragile sense of stability I had rebuilt after a year of grieving my partner’s death. But underneath the chaos, I sensed something deeper, a quiet knowing that this wasn’t an ending—it was a clearing.
The Week Everything Changed
It all started right after the one-year anniversary of my partner’s death. I had braced myself for that date, expecting the grief to crush me all over again. But when it passed, I realized I was okay. Not healed, not over it—but okay. That sense of relief lasted for about a day before the next wave hit.
First, I found out that the company I was working for was shutting down. Our founder had stepped down earlier that year, and I had a gut feeling the business wouldn’t survive the transition. But when the official announcement came, it still shook me. Then, just days later, the guy I had been dating broke up with me. What made it feel strangely fated was the symmetry of it all—we had started dating the same week I started this job. The job started on a Monday we had our first date that Saturday. Now I find out I was loosing my job on a Monday and we break up later that week on Saturday. I mean, that’s strange right?
Despite some sadness, I wasn’t panicked. There was a sense of closure in both endings, a feeling that the chapter had been well-written and was now complete.
A Sign That I Was Being Provided For
This is something I don’t think I’ve shared before but the weekend before I lost my job, I opened up my mail box to find a large check. It was unexpected—some kind of insurance payout that I hadn't even realized was coming. The timing was so precise it felt like a direct message from the universe: You’re going to lose your job, but don’t worry—you’re being provided for.
When the layoff was confirmed just a couple of days later, I didn’t spiral. Instead, I booked a one-way ticket to Bali.
Bali had been calling to me for years. I had gone once before, for my 30th birthday, with my late partner. And I had almost gone back before I started this job—but the timing hadn’t worked out. Now, with this unexpected opening in my life, the timing felt perfect. I booked the trip for three months out, so I could come when the rainy season was over.
Returning to Bali
When I landed in Bali, it felt like coming home. Even though I had only been there once before, for my 30th birthday, the energy of the island felt so familiar—like it had been quietly waiting for me to return. There’s something about Bali that makes you feel held, like you’ve stepped into a softer rhythm of life where things just start to unfold naturally.
This trip wasn’t a vacation; it was a vision trip. After such a difficult year, I wasn’t running away—I was consciously stepping toward something new. I didn’t know exactly what it was yet, but I could feel the opening. The unraveling of my old life had created a wide, empty space, and I was ready to see what might fill it.
I threw myself into yoga, workshops, and personal development classes. Every day, I was peeling back layers of myself, letting go of old stories and opening up to something new. I spent a lot of time in meditation, listening to that quiet voice inside me that I had drowned out for too long.
And then, one meditation changed everything
The Manifestation List
One day, inspired by something I’d read in a Deepak Chopra book, I decided to write down a list of what I truly wanted. I wrote that I wanted to find a partner—someone with very specific qualities—and that I wanted to have a family. That part felt radical to admit out loud. At 34, with the timeline for dating, marriage, and children feeling impossibly tight, I had quietly resigned myself to the idea that motherhood would likely not happen for me.
And then, just for fun, I added that I wanted to live in Bali. I folded the paper, slipped it under my pillow and went into a deep state of meditation. Afterward, nothing happened—at least not immediately. But within a couple of days of this meditation, I met my daughter’s father.
When Timing Is Everything
He had just moved to Bali right before I arrived. If I had gone to Bali earlier we would have missed each other completely.
The signs kept coming. When I found out I was pregnant, I checked my due date—and it was actually my late partner’s birthday. Obviously this had nothing to do with him but that small, impossible coincidence made me feel certain that this baby was meant to come into the world. Her name became Destiny because it was so clear that her existence was no accident. She ended up being born on Valentine’s day which was a way better day and actually was my late grandmothers birthday who had also passed away that year before.
Long story short within a year of that meditation, I was holding my daughter in my arms. Within two and a half years, we were living in Bali together because that is what made the most sense for our family.
Her father and I eventually separated, but I have no doubt that our purpose in meeting was to create her. Everything—every ending, every loss—had led to this.
Trusting the Timing
Now, years later, I find myself in another period of transition. Things aren’t falling apart as dramatically as they did back then, but there’s a familiar sense of uncertainty. Some things aren’t working out, doors are closing, and I’m not sure what comes next.
But the difference now is that I’ve seen this pattern before. I know that when things fall away, they are making space for something new. That when things don’t work out, it’s not because I’m failing—it’s because the timing isn’t right yet. I know now that I am always being guided, provided for, and protected—even when I can’t see the full picture.
I trust the timing of my life. Because once you’ve seen how everything can align perfectly, even when it looks like chaos, you stop questioning the process. You learn to let go. You learn to trust.
