This is enough
A year of monthly solo returnings
Hello love,
I’m writing to you from a room by the sea. A tiny candle is lit beside me. Lavender tulips bend over my glass of water. I’ve been here, alone, for two nights.
I woke up this morning with a soar throat and soar neck. It’s no surprise that when I finally pause my body shows me just how imperative rest is. I am growing out of a pattern of pushing myself so hard that the only thing that gets me to slow down and rest is the breaking point of illness.
When I arrived here two days ago I felt so deeply tired. My bones ached with fatigue and I heard a familiar one that is deeply afraid of disappointment of any kind. I’ve come to know here as my inner Optimizer. She is unyielding and harsh in her attempt to protect me. “You’re going to waste this precious rare time alone. You can’t make the most of it if you get sick. It’s not safe to rest,” she hissed at the exhausted part of me.
I stood on the sandy shore, the wind blowing so hard it held my tired body upright as I leaned back into it. Three balled eagles soared over head and landed on the very top of Haystack Rock. This song played in my headphones and I cried.
A different voice, one that comes from a deeper more compassionate part of myself, whispered gently, “You are enough. This is enough.”
I am not here to make the most of this time. I am here to meet myself where I am, however that looks and feels. I am here to start close. Be begin within. To meet myself in the expansive and tender space of being alone with myself.
At the beginning of the year I identified only one intention/resolution/goal: To spend at least one night alone with myself each month of 2025. This came during a reflective exercise with Natalie, my coach. I looked back on 2024 to locate a moment when I felt most alive. A moment that fueled the energy that sustained and inspired me throughout the year.
One moment instantly floated up and above everything else:
The moment: Spain. After just having arrived. Walking through the streets near my hotel. Piano music coming from an open apartment window.
How I felt: Alive, inspired, big abundance, expansive perspective, floating
The ingredients for this feeling: movement + exploration + no obligations
What needs to happen in the coming year: Put myself in the places that cultivate that floating, free, fresh perspective more frequently.
And thus my year of monthly solo “returnings” was born.
I won’t wrap this up with a tidy conclusion because, honestly, I don’t have one. What I do know is this: taking this time isn’t easy. It wasn’t the first time I did it over three years ago. And it isn’t today. It requires resources, support, time, and courage. It means facing the inevitable questions—the sideways glances from those who wonder why I would step away, the well-meaning but loaded, “But what about your children?” and “What does your husband say?” And yet, despite all of that, I know without a shadow of a doubt that this—these moments of solitude, these intentional pauses—matter deeply.
And so, I begin. Not perfectly, not neatly, not without resistance, but with willingness. To listen. To soften. To trust that nothing is wasted—not time, not stillness, not even exhaustion. This is what returning to myself looks like right now. A quiet room by the sea. A sore throat. A candle flickering beside me. Three eagles landing. A song in my ears. And the whispered reminder that this—just as it is—is enough.
With love,
Raina
Finding Stillness
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A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)
I love a year of monthly solo journeys! So inspiring. Thank you for sharing. Xo
I love the reflection of moments, and how your feelings led to a recipe for recreation.