Where on Earth Have I Been? (Answering the Most-Asked Question About My Life)

Wondering what *I've been up to?*

I’ve been in the refining room.
I’ve been learning how to forgive and how to stay soft.
I’ve been learning how to trust God when my plans unravel.
And I’ve been learning that peace is not a destination, but a Person.

If I had a pound for every time someone asked me lately, “Where have you been?” I’d probably have enough to fund the next flight to somewhere quiet and green, where time slows down long enough to think.

And if you’ve been wondering too… here’s the truth.
I’ve been living. Learning. Wrestling.
I’ve been walking through a chapter that can’t quite be explained in bullet points or tidy updates.

For the last few months, my life has looked a lot less like the highlight reel, and more like the hidden room of growth, the kind that doesn’t always photograph well.

There’s been clinic work, endless study notes, long hours learning how to think like a practitioner instead of a student.
There’s been my coaching work - guiding women through deep healing which, in turn, keeps guiding me back to my own.
There’s been quiet prayers whispered between lectures and moments of questioning that stretched my trust in God wider than before.

And somewhere between all of it, He began teaching me something I didn’t even know I needed to learn: what it really means to trust Him when I don’t understand His ways.

It sounds simple, doesn’t it? Trust.
But trust isn’t tidy. It’s not the kind of faith you wear easily when everything is working out. It’s the kind that trembles and still says, “Even now, I believe.”

A few weeks ago, I faced something that tested that very belief.
It wasn’t a dramatic story, just one of those everyday human experiences that hit deeper than expected, the kind that reveals where your heart really stands.

A classmate and I had a challenging situation in the mist of the practical exam. It spiralled into tension and anxiety, and for a moment, I felt completely lost
I wanted to explain myself, to make sure my heart was seen clearly. But somewhere in the middle of that wrestle, I heard a quiet question from God:
“Will you trust Me with this too?”

That question undid me.

Because yes, I trust God with my career, my future clinic, my health, my clients, all the big things that I can wrap in purpose.
But trusting Him with my reputation? My relationships? The moments where I’m wronged or unseen? That’s a different kind of surrender.

Still, I said yes.
And that’s when the real work began.

I was tested on forgiveness not in theory, but in real life.
It wasn’t easy. Forgiveness never is when the wound is still fresh.
But God reminded me:

forgiveness isn’t about fairness, it’s about freedom.

So I forgave her.
And when another project came up and we had to work together again, I took a deep breath and did it. Not because it was comfortable, but because obedience rarely is.

In time, the weight lifted. Not overnight, but gradually.
And I began to see how deeply God was forming something in me through it all - compassion, humility, and a softness I didn’t know I needed for the kind of practitioner I’m becoming.

Because here’s the thing in the world of health and healing, it’s easy to hide behind knowledge. To collect data and techniques and forget that healing is relational.
But that situation reminded me: the real art of care isn’t just in the treatment, it’s in how we see people.

I promised myself I’d never make a patient feel unseen, unheard, or dismissed for their pain. Because pain has a story. And when someone finally feels safe enough to show it, that’s sacred ground.

That’s what I’ve been learning through every trial, every test, every quiet night where I wondered if I was still walking in the right direction.

And every time I doubted, God brought me back to Romans 8:28

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

All things.
Even this.
Even the misunderstandings, the growing pains, the moments that made me question my own strength.

These months have been humbling.
There were days I didn’t feel like the “strong one.” I wasn’t showing up online because I was too busy showing up for real life - for my studies, my faith, my own nervous system.

God has been teaching me how to slow down.
How to live from rest instead of rush.
How to stop proving and start being in His presence, in His pace, in His peace.

Psalm 37:5 became my anchor

“Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.”

I wrote it everywhere on post-it notes, in my journal margins, whispered it under my breath between patients and lectures. Because that’s what trust feels like in practice, repeating truth louder than fear until it sinks in.

If I’m honest, I didn’t plan to share this. I wanted to come back with a polished update something neat and impressive. But that’s not real life.
What’s real is that sometimes God takes us behind the curtain.
He hides us not to punish us, but to prepare us.
And when He brings us back out, it’s never as the same person we were before.

So where have I been?
I’ve been in the refining room.
I’ve been learning how to forgive and how to stay soft.
I’ve been learning how to trust God when my plans unravel.
And I’ve been learning that peace is not a destination, but a Person.

If you’ve been walking through your own hidden season, the one that no one claps for, the one that feels invisible, let me tell you something I had to remind myself daily:

You’re not lost. You’re being rooted.

The pause doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. It’s the soil of your next beginning.

And I believe that for both of us, the beginning is near.

I’ll be sharing more soon - the lessons, the healing, and how all of this is shaping what’s next inside my world and my work.
But for now, this is me, returning.
A little quieter, a little stronger, and a lot more surrendered.

Because I can finally say with peace in my chest, everything really does work together for good.
Even this.