Finding My Song

I haven’t started singing it yet.

But I’ve finally found it.

A few years ago, if someone had told me I would be completing an internship in homeopathy, building Empowered by Homeopathy, and running for city council, I probably would have laughed.

Or more likely, I would have told them they had the wrong person.

At the time, my life was being rewritten.

The pandemic had changed the world. My parents died two weeks apart. A career I had practised for more than thirty years was coming to an end. The future I had imagined for myself no longer existed.

Like many people facing a crossroads later in life, I asked myself a difficult question:

Was I too old to start over?

Eventually, another question emerged.

Was I too old not to?

That question changed everything.

Around the same time, my husband was facing his own battle. Walking beside someone you love through cancer changes you. I witnessed the chemotherapy treatments, the uncertainty, the setbacks, the victories, and the quiet determination required to keep moving forward one day at a time.

People often think courage looks dramatic. What I saw was something different.

I saw courage in showing up.

I saw courage in perseverance.

I saw courage in hope.

Watching him face cancer taught me lessons I carry with me every day. It reminded me that life is precious, that strength often appears in ordinary moments, and that none of us are meant to walk our hardest journeys alone.

When I first walked through the doors of OCHM, I was terrified. I was so nervous that I felt like I might jump right out of my body. Every interaction felt overwhelming. I questioned myself constantly.

But something unexpected happened.

I met mentors, teachers, and leaders who saw possibilities in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself.

Little by little, I found the courage to speak.

To ask questions.

To trust my own thoughts.

To take up space.

To discover what I actually wanted for my life.

Perhaps the most surprising lesson wasn’t academic at all.

It was relational.

For much of my life, I believed that standing up for myself carried a risk. That if I spoke too honestly, changed too much, or became too fully myself, people might walk away.

Instead, I discovered something beautiful.

The people who are meant to be in our lives don’t run when we find our voice.

They lean in.

The right teachers encourage it.

The right friends celebrate it.

The right mentors help strengthen it.

And the right relationships make room for growth.

Over the last three years, homeopathy has changed more than my understanding of health. It has changed the way I listen to people and the way I understand their stories.

One idea that has stayed with me comes from Rajan Sankaran: the concept of an “inner song” that runs through each person’s life.

Today, when I listen to someone tell their story, I find myself listening for that song.

The thread beneath the challenges.

The strength beneath the struggle.

The person they are becoming.

Maybe that’s why stories of resilience resonate so deeply with me. Sports have always been part of my life and my family’s life. Before my accident, I was an avid skier and soccer player. My brother played professional rugby. I understand determination, setbacks, recovery, and the decision to keep going when the outcome is uncertain.

Those stories speak to me because, in many ways, they are all versions of the same story.

The story of becoming.

I haven’t finished my journey yet.

I’m still working toward my diploma. I’ll continue toward licensure in homeopathy. I’m putting my name forward for city council and hoping my community will place their confidence in me.

None of those outcomes are guaranteed.

But that’s not the point.

For years, I thought life was asking me to overcome one obstacle after another.

Now I see something different.

Every loss, every challenge, every unexpected turn was teaching me to listen more closely.

To myself.

To others.

To life.

My husband’s battle with cancer taught me courage.

My parents’ passing taught me how precious time is.

Starting over taught me that it is never too late to become who you are meant to be.

And the people who have walked beside me—family, friends, teachers, mentors, and colleagues—have helped me hear something I couldn’t hear before.

My own song.

Life feels lighter now.

Not because the burdens were small.

Not because the challenges disappeared.

But because I no longer carry them alone.

Some days the melody still wavers.

Some days I am still learning the words.

Some days I wonder whether anyone wants to hear the song at all.

But for the first time in my life, I am no longer afraid to sing.

And with time, I trust the melody will take care of itself.