The story that started everything
What I learned
when I almost died
I was lying in a hospital bed in Panama City when I asked the question I had been running from my entire life.
The pain had been going on for days. What started as salmonella had become something else entirely — myocarditis, suspected arterial blockages, a body in open revolt. The kind of pain that leaves no room for thought. Hot and cold at once. Trembling I couldn't stop.
I had spent my whole life being strong. Independent. The one who didn't need anyone. And now I couldn't shower without help. Couldn't get dressed. Couldn't do anything but lie there and feel how completely, utterly dependent I was on other people's kindness.
That was the first thing the pain took from me. The illusion of control.
I asked them: Is this it?
There was sadness in the question, and acceptance, and something that surprised me — a strange peace with the answer either way. And then: no more pain. No more fear. Just light. Just warmth. Just something I can only describe as coming home.
Every cell of my body was filled with something I had never truly known before. Not love the way I had experienced it — earned, conditional, fragile. Something older and larger than that. Unconditional. Infinite. Like the light wasn't something I was seeing but something I was.
I came back different. And I came back with one thing I knew, with a certainty I had never felt about anything:
But suffering — the story we build around the pain — that is not inevitable.
That is something we are doing. And we can choose differently.