Remembering Changed Everything
Standing on that mountain top, feeling small against the vastness of nature, I finally understood what had been missing.
For years, I had been living fragments of myself—pieces scattered across expectations, disappointments, and the exhausting effort of trying to be everything to everyone. That gentle breeze seemed to call back all the parts of me I had given away, burned out, or simply forgotten in the noise of a life that looked successful from the outside but felt hollow within.
This wasn’t a moment of discovery. It was a moment of deep remembrance.
The Successful Life That Wasn’t Mine
By every external measure, I had made it. Twenty-five years in health and wellness, a thriving practice, clients who achieved remarkable transformations, recognition in my field. I was the person others came to when they wanted to change their lives, yet I found myself quietly questioning whether I was living my own.
The wake-up call came through a crisis, but what remained afterwards was a creeping sense of disconnection. I was helping people transform their wellbeing while feeling increasingly unwell myself.
I was guiding others toward authenticity while wearing masks I’d forgotten I’d put on. I was teaching people to trust their inner wisdom while doubting my own.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, supposedly an expert in human transformation, feeling like I was living someone else’s version of a good life. I had internalized definitions of success that weren’t mine, adopted strategies that worked for others but drained me, and built a professional identity that felt more like a beautiful cage than a true expression of who I was.
The Path of Trying Almost Everything
Like many people in the wellness world, I became a seeker. I tried meditation retreats and mindfulness practices. I explored different therapeutic modalities and attended countless workshops. I read the books, followed the programs, implemented the systems. Each approach offered something valuable, and I genuinely helped many people using these tools.
But I kept finding myself back at the same crossroads. The external techniques would work for a while, but something deeper remained unaddressed.
I could help people change their behaviors, improve their health, even shift their mindset, but the most profound transformations seemed to happen when something else was touched—something that had less to do with doing and more to do with being.
I began to notice patterns in my most successful client relationships. The breakthroughs didn’t come from the techniques I taught but from moments when people suddenly saw through their own stories, questioned their assumptions, or recognized patterns they’d been unconsciously living.
These weren’t cognitive insights—they were deeper recognitions that seemed to arise from some wiser part of themselves.
I started paying attention to these moments, both in my work and in my own life. What was actually happening when real change occurred? What were the common elements beneath all the different methodologies and approaches?
The Remembering Begins
The first truth revealed itself through my own stubborn certainty. I was so sure I understood a situation with a difficult client—certain I knew what they needed, certain about what was causing their struggles, certain about the best approach. When nothing worked and the relationship deteriorated, I was forced to confront an uncomfortable possibility: maybe my perspective wasn’t the whole truth.
This led me down a rabbit hole of exploring how perception works, how our minds construct reality rather than simply reflecting it. I began to see how many conflicts—both personal and professional—arose not from actual differences but from people defending their partial perspectives as if they were complete truths.
The second truth emerged through my attempts to fix complex problems with simple solutions. A client’s chronic health issues weren’t just about diet or exercise—they were connected to work stress, family dynamics, past trauma, financial anxiety, and a dozen other factors interacting in ways that defied linear cause-and-effect thinking. I realized I’d been trying to solve multidimensional puzzles with one-dimensional tools.
The third truth became visceral when my own life was turned upside down by unexpected changes. My first instinct was to resist, to try to get things “back to normal.” But normal wasn’t coming back. The more I fought the changes, the more suffering I created. When I finally learned to work with impermanence rather than against it, everything shifted. Change became an ally rather than an enemy.
The fourth truth revealed itself through my growing dissatisfaction with surface-level success. I had achieved things that should have made me happy, yet happiness remained elusive. I began to understand that meaning wasn’t something I could accumulate from outside experiences—it emerged from conscious engagement with life itself, from the quality of presence I brought to each moment.
The fifth truth became clear through my growing awareness of interconnection. Every achievement, every insight, every moment of growth had happened within webs of relationship and support. The myth of the self-made individual dissolved as I recognized how fundamentally relational every aspect of existence really was.
But recognizing these truths intellectually was one thing. Integrating them into my life and work was another. There was a period when everything I thought I knew about myself and my work felt uncertain.
If my perspective wasn’t reliable, how could I trust my professional judgment? If simple solutions didn’t work, how could I help people who wanted quick fixes? If change was constant, how could I build a stable practice? If meaning couldn’t be manufactured, how could I help people find purpose? If everything was interconnected, how could I maintain healthy boundaries?
These questions led to what felt like professional and personal deconstruction. Old identities crumbled. Familiar approaches stopped working. Relationships shifted. I found myself in that uncomfortable space between who I had been and who I was becoming—a space I now recognize as sacred, though it felt terrifying at the time.
Slowly, something new began to emerge. Not a return to the old ways, but an integration that honored both the wisdom I’d gained and the truths I was remembering. I began to work with clients differently—not as an expert with answers, but as a guide helping them access their own deeper knowing.
The five truths weren’t separate concepts but interconnected aspects of a more mature way of engaging with reality. When I held all five simultaneously, something coherent emerged—a framework that could guide both personal transformation and organizational change, both individual healing and collective evolution.
I realized this wasn’t my system at all. These truths were ancient wisdom dressed in contemporary language, universal principles I had simply remembered through my own experience. My role wasn’t to invent something new but to translate something timeless into forms that could serve our current challenges.
The Core Truths System didn’t emerge from strategic planning or market research. It arose from necessity—my own need to find a way of living and working that felt authentic, sustainable, and genuinely helpful. Only after I began using this framework in my own life and with select clients did I realize its broader applications.
Now I see this work as less about teaching and more about remembering together. Every person I work with already has access to these truths—they’ve simply been covered over by conditioning, trauma, and the accumulated habits of living in a culture that often asks us to forget who we really are.
My job isn’t to give people something they don’t have. It’s to create conditions where they can remember what they’ve always known but perhaps lost touch with. It’s to offer frameworks that make ancient wisdom accessible in contemporary contexts.
Standing on the Mountain
That mountain experience wasn’t the beginning of my journey—it was a milestone marking my return home to myself. All those fragments I called back weren’t lost pieces but aspects of my wholeness that had been temporarily obscured.
The revolution I wrote about in my social media post isn’t external. It’s the quiet revolution of individuals remembering who they truly are and living from that place of authenticity. When enough people make this shift, it creates ripples that transform families, organizations, communities, and eventually culture itself.
The Core Truths System is my contribution to this quiet revolution. Not as the creator of something new, but as someone who remembered something eternal and found ways to share it that serve our collective awakening.
This is the work that chose me: helping others remember what they already know, supporting the journey home to themselves, and creating spaces where authenticity becomes not just possible but inevitable.
The revolution is indeed starting. And it begins with each of us calling back the fragments, claiming our wholeness, and living from the truth of who we really are.
Thank you for reading x
