After the Rain: Gentle Reminders for Healing, Courage, and Self-Love

by Alexandra Elle

Finding peace in the storms that show up in my life is a lesson that I continue to work through on a daily basis. It’s mucky, uncomfortable, and at times feels impossible to stand in. Even after all the years I’ve been doing this work and all the progress I’ve made to grasp and hold on to self-love, the roaring thunder of emotions can sometimes still have the power to drown out any ounce of clarity that could possibly make sense or make me feel at ease. When I’m trekking through the middle of turbulence, it is difficult to envision the beauty, or blessings, after the storm.

Despite all the work I have done to arrive in a place of joy and contentment, there is still so much more to be considered. There is still much more to be done. Unfolding never stops, no matter how successful we become, how full we feel, or how at ease we may believe ourselves to be. There is always a next step, another way, and more to absorb.

when we stop learning how to move through adversity, if we choose to sit in our enlightenment without exploring further evolution, we become stagnant and satisfied with stunted growth. The goal for me is to continue learning how to dance in the rain, even if it’s mixed with tears as I learn my way. All of life’s complexities are showing me that my intention should always be rooted in addressing the storms, instead of hiding from them.

I am learning on a daily basis how to lead and live a meaningful life. How to create space for my healing and grief to coexist, paint my own picture, tell my own story, and remove the shame that comes with emotional duality. Often, it isn’t until we are flooded with gratitude from our vast and unique experiences, even the ones that hurt the most, that we are given the gift of glory.

You are not alone. Here’s to dancing in the rain, and believing that triumph is on the other side of trepidation.

Letting go has never been my strength. If I were a tree, I’d be scared out of my mind that my leaves would never return. But in my ideal world, change wouldn’t incite fear. Instead, it would encourage shedding as part of the natural process of becoming whole and lush.

Through the inevitable discomfort of having to unlearn old bad habits, I had to take ownership of redefining my sense of self so that I could discover my purpose. And that meant embracing time alone, a season of complete solitude. Transforming on my own wasn’t my first choice, but it’s grown to be my most treasured. Being alone showed me that I could shed, release, and outgrow anything, including my old ways and bad habits, that didn’t serve me well. Change taught me the importance of self-autonomy, which I never quite believed I would come to know.

Changing meant I had to start with being honest about who I was and who I wanted to be. It meant learning the difference between being alone and being lonely.

And in order to do that, I knew I needed to leave people behind who were distracting me from my growth. I had to start from scratch and acknowledge my roles in the cycles that I said I wanted to break. Committing to change meant challenges and trust, which stripped me of everything that I knew.

For me, change required being brave enough to let go and vulnerable enough to start over, even if that meant trying more than once or twice to get it right.

My first self-published book, Words from a Wanderer, was selling really well, and I thought I was ready to take the plunge into full-time entrepreneurship.

Was I rushing? I often asked myself. And if so, what was my hurry? Truthfully, I wasn’t rushing, I was just scared. Terrified I was going to crash and burn and look stupid for trying to do what I loved. Worried that I was going to be broke and struggling, which I couldn’t afford to be. What if I failed? What if my mom was right, and this dream I had was selfish and impractical?

felt liberated. I was choosing myself and refusing to be belittled by someone who thought he had control over me. I was also finally giving myself permission to do what I loved for a living, even if I was a little frightened. It crossed my mind that I’d just made an awful mistake, but nothing could’ve been worse than staying in a toxic work environment where I wasn’t valued.

CHANGE MEDITATION How do you want to change? Think about things in your life that need to shift and require your full attention to do so. Make a list in your journal of the changes you’d like to make as you continue to evolve into your best self.

As an adult, unpacking my past, upbringing, and childhood has brought a lot of emotions to the surface, some that I am still not ready to look in the face and confront. Navigating how I heal and move through trauma is a daily practice. And though I may not be willing to open certain boxes packed with pain, I understand that in order to make space for healing, all things must be rooted in love, and not fear.

possibility of self-love, fulfillment, and joy without relying on the validation of others. Without needing outsiders to love me first.

That perhaps depression had swallowed Mom whole and wouldn’t let her come back up for air. Or maybe she didn’t love herself, and she was trying to figure out how to love me in the throes of that uncertainty but couldn’t. I don’t know what’s worse; not being able to breathe and parent, or not being able to love and parent. As a mother myself now, I understand that the things we grapple with in the thick of remorse and redemption can try to define us, ruin us, and mold us, for better or for worse.

Looking back on that day in the car, I can see how lacking self-love and self-forgiveness crucially impacts how we show up for others, including our children. I didn’t come from love or longing, and nurture didn’t live in our home.

Not feeling loved or cared for as a child did not give me the right to move through the world carrying self-destruction on my back.

Realizing that certain things in life are a choice, I made the decision to free myself and find myself in the reflection of my own eyes and not those of whom I was trying to force to see

My past couldn’t keep speaking for my present. Trauma or not, I had to make the effort to rise from the ashes and soar.

not making space for it to. The older I got, the more clear it became that I was the common denominator in my suffering, so I needed to adjust. Self-love feels like looking yourself in the eye, taking a deep breath, and saying: I see you. I deserve to see myself in the same warm glow that I see others. My light is abundant. My joy is important. I deserve to take up space.

there are some days, no matter how stunning the sky is, when gratitude can feel like a distant afterthought.

It was going to be one of those emotionally hard days. What rocked me even more was the tough time I was having trying to figure out and shake off what was the matter. I hate not knowing what is wrong with me. I felt alone and worried and ashamed for feeling both of those things.

My inner child was having a tantrum: She wanted attention, and love. And those feelings had manifested in my heavy mood.

“Why can’t there be a destination in this self-healing work? Why does it have to be an ongoing process?” I asked my friend. I told her I was longing for an end point. Trying to figure this stuff out, over and over again, made me feel like time was being wasted. Like I was stuck in some sort of endless cycle.

What would I tell my younger self about mending after being broken? The words of wisdom I would share with her would be rooted in vulnerability, softness, and strength. I’d tell her this: Hold your hurt, rest in your pain more often, stop running from fear. Don’t be afraid to touch and face what scares you the most. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Collapse into vulnerability; that is where you will find resilience. Take care of the soft and tender spots of your grief and process and bandage them up slowly. Rushing to rebuild won’t make you heal any faster. I would tell her that it’s fine to be a mess. It’s good, even. An immense amount of magic can be found in the chaotic moments we encounter. The true process of mending has exposed itself in the thick of the moments that have shattered me.

Suffering has been an extraordinary and underappreciated teacher in my life. It’s taught me how to heal, give myself grace in intense moments of grief, and recognize the importance of gently moving through experiences that cause tension, discomfort, and uncertainty. No one demonstrated how to relieve the inevitable agony that life would hand me. No one told me that I was in charge of it, either. I was left to figure out how to not only acknowledge but also understand the role I may have played in causing it.

Even in distress, and turmoil, I can heal the damaged parts of myself by releasing attachments to things I cannot change and letting go of the notion that I have to figure out my sorrow.

mantra Hurt happens, but so does healing. Admitting that things aren’t always going to be fine allows me to revel in the moments that are. The sunrises of my life deserve to be embraced, even on the days I feel blinded by the other stuff going on around me. Life doesn’t stop when we grieve. Learning to soothe our suffering—choosing how to move through our pain—that is where the prize is.

Life won’t be what we wish it to be; no amount of wishing and waiting will change that. And that when we truly care, we make time for who and what we value. When I lean back into my past and comfort my inner child, I make sure to nurture that truth.

Time has done an exceptional job of teaching me how to care about myself. I’ve figured out how to invest my time in healthy relationships, a fulfilling career, and the legacy I want to leave behind. It’s taught me acceptance and understanding and how to gather myself after being cracked into a million pieces with no “fix it” manual. I’ve become a work of art through times of neglect, uncertainty, and failure. Time has made it clear that being my own worst enemy was my truest challenge. Holding on to what could’ve been doesn’t change what was, and expecting anything different to manifest from things I cannot change only creates a dent in the power I am attempting to stand in.

Time has taken me by the hand and revealed how to be okay with not being okay. How to stop pretending and performing for the sake of being seen and heard. I am not on a stage. And being anyone but myself would be a disservice to my purpose. I wore a cloak for so long. I felt like a fraud and I was running away from my authentic self. I was hoping that I could be what other people wanted and expected, all while slowly killing myself inside for not being faithful to my authentic path.

This journey isn’t just about savoring the sweetness, but learning how to swallow when things become too much to bear.

Choosing myself requires bravery and trust, even when I’m not chosen by outsiders. I still believe in my worth and choose to rise up. Rejection teaches me to uplift my spirit and redirect my energy, even when it’s a challenge.

You don’t have to know what you’re doing to succeed, but you do have to be willing to try.

I am working through my mess. I am sorting out my life. I am finding peace in the midst of madness. I am deserving of emotionally clean spaces.

I am gaining perspective from what is able to stay and finding wisdom in what has to go. Letting go isn’t synonymous with missing out. I have the power to make room in my life for shifting and joy. I am releasing what no longer serves a purpose in my journey with grace— I will create space for change.

TIME MEDITATION What is time mending in your life? How is it teaching you to be transparent, patient, and graceful?

Even before I became a mother, I felt like a home, an overcrowded one. Heavy, at capacity, trying to fit the stories of others in my body. I felt fragmented by all the stories I held. So I searched for people who could fit my pieces together, like I was some sort of puzzle or mosaic art. I was on a quest for togetherness and acceptance. Somebody, anybody, see me, love me, please. There was no such thing as feeling complete and enough. My need for validation was rooted in my belief that I was born a broken girl. I didn’t know how to fix myself or find magic in the mess I was making, and I believed that in order to become whole, I needed someone else to put my pieces together. I learned self-validation along my journey, but not without failure and backtracking. Lessons are built through trial and error. As I crumbled time and time again, it became increasingly clear that a person who needs fixing can’t mend anyone, themselves included. Sharing myself when I was in pieces only led to more disarray, particularly on the dating front. I remember looking in the mirror at twenty-two, after my last failed situationship, and thinking, When have you ever been good enough and intact, for yourself? The answer was never. I was always counting on someone else to do that for me.

It’s funny how longing can create fairy tales in our head.

I was doing that thing again made everything else glow with clarity. I was reliving old patterns that I was accustomed to and comfortable in. The familiarity stopped me in my tracks. I was doing what I did best: giving up on myself and my needs to settle and shrink into the heart and life of someone with whom I had little chemistry on a good day. I wanted more, even if I didn’t have the language to voice it. I wasn’t looking for another fling, and he, fairly enough, wasn’t looking for a wife. What I discovered from my short-lived romance was that I needed to find out who I was and what I truly wanted, from myself and others. Shrinking to fit in wasn’t working anymore. Swallowing the desires and stories of other people had gotten old and unsettling.

It’s easy to accept the bare minimum when it becomes the narrative of our personal story. I was so busy searching for someone to make me whole that I lost the ability to build trust in not only my voice, but also my individuality. Richmond showed me that being alone is better than sharing space with someone who wasn’t a match. I walked away with a clearer understanding that I had to stop settling and forcing and being okay with the scraps of people’s effort and time.

While life is not meant to be done alone, it’s important to make room and hold space for intimate moments that don’t require company and praise to press forward. Validation starting with me gave me permission to trust myself in new ways, while holding myself accountable. It is no one else’s job to make me feel whole and good—only I can do that.

A year prior, I’d stopped having sex, stopped dating and entertaining people who I knew were temporary, and decided that settling was not an option in my life. Essentially, I stopped wasting my time and started figuring out who I was outside of motherhood and men. I wasn’t happy with how things were going, and I wanted to feel fulfilled. The only person who could shift how things were going was me.

pivoted and stepped into choosing joy for myself. Ryan caught me at a good time and in a good

make me feel like I could be my entire self with no filter. I didn’t have to wake up pretty, my hair didn’t need to look perfect, and my eyebrows being done or legs being shaved didn’t give him pause one way or another. He made me feel seen and appreciated. His ability to listen, even when he wasn’t a fan of what I was saying, blew my mind. Ryan was the first man to help me figure out what I was looking for in a partner just by being himself, and by accepting me in all my grit and glory without second thought.

Our long-distance love made each visit precious, and we sweetly savored every moment together, splitting our time between the beach, shaved ice and waffle spots, and museums with the most stunning views. We even did yoga together. My fondest memories with Ryan often center around food and finding the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants. We discovered new ways to have fun each time I came to town.

being apart was laborious and a true test of patience and understanding. Being long distance took a lot of work and commitment, but looking back, it was beyond good for us. We learned how to communicate and keep in touch emotionally. When we weren’t together, we made time for one another despite the 3,500 miles and three-hour time difference. Even when there were days when nurturing our love felt too difficult to manage, we stayed the course because of our belief in one another. I had moments of defeat and wanting to give up, especially when there was conflict in the air, but he wouldn’t let me walk away. He had grown to know my fears and patterns, and instead of being impatient with me, he loved me harder. Ryan taught me how to relax and relinquish control. We would either work or we wouldn’t, and that precariousness made me extremely uncomfortable, but like rapper Nipsey Hussle said to his wife, Lauren, you don’t possess people, you experience them. Looking at love from that angle is something that took us years to learn through trial and error.

our long-distance love taught me was that I needed to learn how to trust someone who wasn’t nearby. Immaturely, I thought being close by made a world of difference, but it didn’t. Trust is trust, near or far. I had to learn how to go with the flow and not let the hauntings of my past dictate how I moved through this new relationship. That was the hardest part for me: letting go and letting love lead without fear of being hurt at every turn. Even through the self-work I’d done, trusting people, specifically men, was still rocky. The biggest risk I took with Ryan was not only believing that I could trust him to hold my heart but also trusting myself enough to let him.