🧠 From Relapse to Rebuild: What I Wish More People Understood

Real talk about falling and standing back up—without the shame spiral.

💬 INTRO

Relapse isn’t the opposite of recovery.
It’s part of the damn path sometimes. And I wish more people understood that.

We live in a world that loves a clean redemption arc—the “I hit rock bottom and now I run marathons” story. But what about the spaces in between? What about the messy middles, the setbacks, the nights we hoped no one saw?

It’s easy to cheer for someone when they’re stacking sober days and posting glow-up photos. But what happens when the streak breaks? When a sip, a slip, or a spiral knocks you flat again?

Here’s the truth, from someone who’s been there:
Shame doesn’t heal. Compassion does.
And relapse isn’t proof you’re hopeless—it’s proof you’re human.

This post isn’t just for those in recovery. It’s for the ones who love them, too. Because the way we respond to relapse? It matters more than we think.

1️⃣ Relapse Isn’t a Moral Failure

Let’s say this loud for the folks in the back:
Relapse is not a sign of weakness, laziness, or lack of willpower.

It’s not a character defect.
It’s not because you don’t “want it bad enough.”
It’s not proof you weren’t serious about your recovery.

Relapse is a response to pain—not a reflection of your worth. It’s often a byproduct of trauma, overwhelm, or nervous system overload. In fact, many recovery professionals will tell you: relapse is a symptom, not a failure.

The science backs this up. Addiction rewires the brain’s reward system and stress responses. So when we’re pushed to the edge—emotionally, physically, spiritually—our default coping mechanisms scream louder than logic. And for many of us, the old patterns still feel safer than the unfamiliar work of healing.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t need to feel ashamed of the fall.
You just need to decide it’s not where you’ll stay.

2️⃣ What Triggers It (and Why That Matters)

You know what rarely gets talked about?
Why relapse happens in the first place.

We treat it like a random explosion, but most of the time—relapse is the final domino in a long, quiet line of unaddressed needs.

Sometimes it’s stress.
Sometimes it’s boredom.
Sometimes it’s something as subtle as not feeling seen in your own house or respected in your own skin.

Here are a few common triggers I’ve experienced or seen up close:

• Loneliness: Isolation is gasoline on the fire of old habits. We crave connection, and when that’s missing, the brain reaches for whatever once gave us relief.

• Unprocessed trauma: Recovery doesn’t erase the pain—it just gives us better tools to sit with it. But if those tools break down, the old ones come knocking.

• Sudden success: This one’s tricky. Sometimes, when things finally start going well, we self-sabotage out of fear we don’t deserve it.

• Emotional exhaustion: “Doing the work” is beautiful—but it’s also tiring. If we’re not careful, burnout sneaks in and tells us to check out.

The point isn’t to blame the trigger—it’s to name it.
Because when we can name what’s happening, we’re not powerless. We can build new responses. Safer tools. Real community.
But first we have to get honest about what we’re actually up against.

3️⃣ The Shame Spiral Is the Real Threat

Relapse itself isn’t what keeps most people stuck.
It’s the shame that follows.

Shame is that voice that says:

• “See? You’ll never change.”

• “You’ve wasted everyone’s time.”

• “You were just pretending to be strong.”

Sound familiar?

Here’s what I want you to hear in this moment, especially if you’re fresh in the fallout:
You can’t hate yourself into healing.

You can’t shame yourself into change.
You can’t punish yourself into peace.

What you can do is interrupt the spiral.

When I’ve relapsed in the past, the hardest part wasn’t picking myself up—it was convincing myself I was allowed to. That I was still worthy of trying again. That the people I loved wouldn’t give up on me. That I could come back from it without wearing a permanent label on my chest.

If that’s where you are now—listen closely:
Relapse doesn’t revoke your right to recovery.
It doesn’t cancel your progress.
It doesn’t make you a lost cause.

It just means you need more support. Not more shame.

4️⃣ How to Rebuild—Without Beating Yourself Up

If you’ve relapsed, first—breathe.
Then… resist the urge to start over in a blaze of perfectionism.

This isn’t a punishment.
You’re not back at square one.
You’re just learning what you still need. That’s not failure. That’s feedback.

Here are a few things that have helped me rebuild after a fall:

• Call it what it is—not what it isn’t.
  Denial delays healing. Speak the truth: “I relapsed. I need support. I’m still worthy of change.”

• Reconnect to purpose + people.
  Shame isolates. Community anchors. You’re not meant to do this alone.

• Reframe your story.
  This isn’t the end. This is a chapter. And you are still the author.

• Practice radical self-compassion.
  Would you say to a friend what you’re saying to yourself right now? If not—change the script.

5️⃣ What to Say (and NOT Say) to Someone in Relapse

Whether you're in recovery or loving someone who is—this matters:

Say this:

• “I’m here. No judgment.”

• “You are not your relapse.”

• “This doesn’t erase everything you’ve worked for.”

Avoid this:

• “You were doing so well…”

• “I thought you were past this.”

• “You just need to try harder.”

Support doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.
But it does mean offering honesty with love.
It means holding someone accountable without weaponizing their pain.
It means saying, “I still believe in you,” even when they’ve stopped believing in themselves.

🧭 Final Thoughts: Tevahri + The Next Step

If you’ve stumbled—you’re not disqualified.
You don’t need to start from scratch. Just from here.

At Tevahri, we believe your story still matters—even in the mess.
Especially in the mess.

This space exists to help you rebuild your life with purpose, grace, and support. Whether it’s through coaching, workbooks, or just a voice that says “me too”—you’re not walking this alone.

Come as you are.
We’ll meet you there.
And walk with you toward what’s next.

“Just Get Over It” — When They Say That, They Don’t See the Whole Story

“You just need to get over it.”

They say it so casually, like it’s some universal truth. As if pain can be reasoned with. As if trauma can be boxed up and shelved like last season’s wardrobe. As if the mind, heart, and body don’t keep the score.

And every time I hear it—whether it’s about grief, addiction, depression, or the weight of a past I didn’t choose—I feel that sting. That same tired suggestion that my suffering is inconvenient. That healing should be neat, fast, and invisible.

Let me say this as clearly as I can:

If I could have flipped the switch, I would have burned the damn thing down years ago.

But Healing Doesn’t Work Like That

This isn’t about weakness.
It’s not about willpower.
It’s not about whether or not I “want” to feel better.

It’s about wiring.
It’s about how trauma settles into bones.
It’s about how addiction becomes a map to escape what no one taught you how to face.
It’s about a nervous system on overdrive, and a body that flinches at softness because it's never known safety.

It’s about grief that loops, shame that lingers, and guilt that tells you you’re not worth the effort—even when you are the effort.

So no, I can’t just “get over it.”
Because I’m in it.
Because I’m moving through it.
Because I am peeling back years of self-protection to find the truth under the rubble.

And that’s sacred work.

The Myth of the Quick Fix

We are a culture addicted to the shortcut.
To the pill.
To the bypass.
To the 5-step formula to “fix” what was never broken in the first place.

And when someone tells you to “just stop”—whether it’s drinking, overthinking, isolating, numbing—they’re revealing more about their comfort level than your capacity.

They don’t want to feel the depth of what you carry.
So they try to shut it down.

But not you.

You’re still here.
Still showing up.
Still wrestling with the weight of it all—and choosing, however imperfectly, not to numb out completely.

That is not failure.
That is the truest form of strength I know.

This Is What I Want You to Hear

You don’t need to explain why it still hurts.
You don’t need to justify why you’re not “over it” yet.
You are not broken for feeling broken.
You are not behind for still becoming.

If healing has felt more like crawling through fog than climbing a ladder—you're not alone.

And the fact that you are reading this right now?
That you are seeking truth, comfort, connection, or maybe just one reason to believe again?

That is proof. You’re already doing the work.

So let them keep their tidy advice.
You don’t need their shortcuts.
You need space.
You need truth.
You need time.

Because we’re not just trying to “get over it.”
We’re learning how to live beyond it—
With grace.
With courage.
With hearts that remember, and still choose to keep beating.

When Healing Feels Like Hustling: The Pressure to Always Be 'Doing the Work’

“You’ve got to do the work.”

It’s a phrase we hear often in recovery and self-growth spaces.
And it’s true—healing takes intention. Courage. Commitment. But somewhere along the way, the sacred work of healing gets tangled in something else: hustle culture dressed in self-help clothing.

We start with a pure desire—to feel better, be better, grow.
We commit. We show up.
We start journaling. We say our affirmations. We schedule the therapy. We listen to the podcasts. We read the books. We track our nervous system like it's a stock portfolio.

And slowly… almost invisibly…
our healing becomes something to achieve, rather than something to receive.

💼 When Healing Becomes Another Job

Somewhere in the process, what started as soul work becomes performance.
We hold ourselves to impossible standards:

• Was I mindful enough today?

• Did I react with perfect emotional regulation?

• Am I spiritually evolved yet, or just faking it with crystals and quotes?

We become our own manager, grading our growth, obsessing over "getting it right."
And when we inevitably don’t—when we feel messy, angry, anxious, or tired—we treat it like a setback rather than part of the process.

But healing isn’t a job.
It’s not a checklist.
It’s not another project to be optimized.

It’s a remembering.
A coming home.
A sacred unfolding that can’t be rushed, packaged, or turned into a performance.

🧠 When Overachievement Is a Trauma Response

For many of us, the drive to "keep doing the work" is deeply wired.

If you spent years surviving—navigating trauma, addiction, abandonment, abuse—you may have developed a brilliant and exhausting skill: over functioning.

You learned that staying busy kept you safe.
That achieving gave you value.
That being needed gave you belonging.
That perfection was protection.

So it makes sense that even healing might get pulled into that same pattern.
That same striving. That same over-efforting.

You may believe:

“If I can just fix myself fast enough, maybe I’ll finally be okay.”

But healing doesn’t demand that you push harder.
Sometimes, it invites you to let go.

🌿 Rest Is the Work

Here’s what no one told many of us growing up:
Rest is not earned. Rest is essential.
And in healing? Rest is resistance.

Resistance against the belief that worth must be proved.
Resistance against a world that equates stillness with laziness.
Resistance against the idea that doing nothing means you're going backward.

True rest—the kind where you stop striving, stop fixing, stop efforting—is where integration happens.

It's where your nervous system exhales.
It's where your body catches up to your mind.
It’s where you discover that you don’t need to be “better” to be worthy of love right now.

Because rest is where healing roots itself in receiving, not performing.

🌀 Healing Is Not a Competition or a Climb

There’s no gold star at the end of this journey.
No trophy for who had the best breakthroughs.
No leaderboard for emotional intelligence.

This isn’t a race—it’s a relationship.
With yourself. With your past. With the parts of you that are still scared.
And relationships take time, gentleness, and grace.

You are not falling behind.
You are becoming.

And sometimes, becoming looks like:

• Turning off your phone and taking a nap.

• Letting yourself cry over something you thought you “should be over.”

• Skipping the meditation because what you really need is pancakes and reruns.

That counts.
It all counts.

🌙 The Art of Receiving (Even When It’s Uncomfortable)

Receiving is hard when survival taught us to strive.
When trauma taught us to keep proving.
When recovery spaces start to mirror corporate culture—do more, grow more, heal faster.

But healing asks something radical:

That you let yourself receive love, grace, rest, and joy—before you feel like you deserve it.

That’s how reparenting happens.
That’s how self-trust is built.
That’s how nervous systems begin to regulate—not just through tools, but through tenderness.

🌺 Give Yourself Permission

Let this be your permission slip:
✨ You are allowed to pause.
✨ You are allowed to be unfinished.
✨ You are allowed to heal slowly.
✨ You are allowed to be joyful in the middle of your mess.

Your healing is not a business plan.
It’s a becoming.
And that becoming is holy.

📝 A Gentle Practice

Place one hand on your heart.
Close your eyes, just for a moment.
And say this out loud:

“I am not a project to fix. I am a person to love.
Today, I give myself permission to rest without apology.”

Then breathe.
That’s enough for now.

💬 Let’s Reflect Together:

In the comments (or in your own journal), respond to this:

🖊 What would it look like to stop striving and start softening?

Or simply write:
“I give myself permission to pause, even when…”

Because your healing is not on a deadline.
Your becoming is not behind schedule.
And your rest is not a setback—it’s sacred.

When the Life You Prayed For Still Feels Heavy

Holding Joy and Grief in the Same Hands

I used to think healing would feel like light.
Clean. Bright. Weightless.

I believed that once I got through the chaos—sobriety, rebuilding, reinvention—everything hard would melt away. That I’d be “better.” Fixed. Free.

And in many ways, I am.
But here's the part no one talks about:

The life I prayed for—the one I now live—still feels heavy some days.

Not because it’s bad. Not because I’m ungrateful.
But because I’m finally safe enough to feel the grief I couldn’t access when I was just trying to survive.

Healing Doesn’t Erase the Past—It Illuminates It

When you’re in the thick of addiction or trauma, your brain protects you. It numbs, edits, deletes.
It’s survival mode. You don’t have time to feel. You don’t have room to look back.

But healing brings clarity. And clarity brings pain.

Because now, you can see:

• What you lost.

• Who you hurt.

• How much of yourself you abandoned just to be loved, or accepted, or safe.

It’s not that the past gets worse—it just becomes more visible.
And visibility brings weight.

The Aftershock of “Getting Better”

There’s a strange phenomenon that happens after we reach stability: the grief wave.

It might look like:

• Achieving your goals… and crying anyway.

• Waking up sober and still feeling hollow.

• Creating a beautiful life, yet sensing something unnamed still aches.

This isn’t failure. This is depth.

Because when you’re no longer fighting for your next breath, your body and soul finally have space to process all the breaths you held in for years.

Emotional Duality: The Both/And of Recovery

We’re taught to think in binaries: happy/sad, healed/broken, strong/weak.
But real recovery exists in the both/and.

👉 I am profoundly grateful and deeply sad.
👉 I am living my dream and grieving the years I lost.
👉 I am proud of who I’ve become and tender toward who I used to be.

The emotional maturity of recovery is learning to sit with contradiction.
Not to fix it. Not to simplify it.
But to honor it.

What This Might Look Like in Your Life

Maybe today, you walked into your dream job, but felt a pang of loneliness because no one from your past gets it.

Maybe you’re finally in a healthy relationship, but you’re still flinching from the memory of who didn’t protect you.

Maybe your life looks peaceful now, but the silence brings echoes of things you haven’t yet named.

That’s not backsliding. That’s integration.

Healing doesn’t mean erasing the past.
It means making peace with it so it no longer defines you—but it still informs you.
It still shapes you.

You’re Not Ungrateful. You’re Becoming.

If no one has told you lately:
It’s okay if you’re feeling more than you expected.

It’s okay if joy feels foreign.
If celebration feels awkward.
If peace feels suspicious.

This is what happens when your nervous system has been calibrated for chaos, and suddenly… there’s calm.
It’s not that you’re doing it wrong.
It’s that your body is relearning how to trust the stillness.

What to Do With the Heaviness

Here’s what I practice when the weight shows up:

1. I pause.
I don’t rush to fix it. I let myself feel it, even if it’s messy or inconvenient.

2. I speak gently to myself.
I remind myself that the grief is a sign of healing—not of failure.

3. I ground.
Hands on heart. Feet on the earth. Deep breath. I remind myself: This is now. That was then.

4. I let others hold space.
Sometimes I name it to a trusted person. Sometimes I write it. Sometimes I pray. But I don’t hold it alone.

This Is What Wholeness Feels Like

We don’t talk enough about this part.
The sacred, quiet heaviness that arrives after the storm.
The grief that whispers, “You made it. And now you’re safe enough to feel what couldn’t be felt before.”

The life you prayed for may still feel heavy.
But that doesn’t mean you’re lost.
It means you’re home.

Finally.

You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are becoming.

And that’s a weight worth carrying.

💬 Keep Reading

🔹 The Cost of Numbing: What We Miss When We Avoid Our Feelings
When we avoid our emotions, we also block healing. Here’s why facing your feelings creates space for clarity.

🔹 Seeing Our Past Through Clear Eyes
Sobriety brings insight—and sometimes, sorrow. This blog explores how clarity reveals grief and growth together.

The Cost of Numbing: What We Miss When We Avoid Our Feelings

For years, I thought feeling less was the goal.

If I could just stay busy enough, successful enough, helpful enough… maybe I wouldn’t have to feel so much.

When I couldn’t outrun the emotions, I numbed them—through alcohol, through perfectionism, through constant movement.

And for a while, it worked.
Or so I told myself.

But here’s what I know now: the cost of numbing is steep.
And more often than not, it keeps us from the life we’re working so hard to create.

The Many Faces of Numbing

When people think of numbing, they often picture substances—alcohol, drugs, food. And yes, those can absolutely be forms of escape.

But numbing is more subtle than we give it credit for.

It can look like:

• Being endlessly busy

• Filling your calendar so there’s no room to think

• Obsessing over work or success

• Constantly “helping” others at the expense of your own healing

• Scrolling endlessly on your phone

• Striving for perfection in everything you do

• Hiding behind humor or sarcasm

• Saying “I’m fine” when you’re anything but

In short: numbing is anything we use to avoid sitting with what’s real—especially the feelings we’d rather not face.

What Numbing Costs Us

When we numb, it’s often because some part of us believes we can’t handle the feelings that might arise if we stop.

But the truth is, the more we avoid… the more we lose.

We lose clarity.
Because when we constantly distract ourselves, we can’t hear what our soul is trying to tell us.

We lose authentic connection.
Because it’s impossible to truly connect with others when we’re disconnected from ourselves.

We lose self-trust.
Because deep down, part of us knows we’re running from the truth—and it’s hard to respect ourselves when we’re in hiding.

We lose healing.
Because what we refuse to feel, we cannot heal.

And perhaps most painfully:

We lose joy.
Because when you numb the painful feelings, you also numb the good ones.

The Illusion of Control

One of the most deceptive forms of numbing is perfectionism.

It whispers:
“If I can just get everything right… then I won’t have to feel so wrong.”

It gives us the illusion of control—over our emotions, our relationships, even our worth.

But perfectionism is a mask. And masks may shield us from vulnerability… but they also suffocate us.

Eventually, life will crack that mask wide open. Through burnout. Through broken connections. Through exhaustion that no amount of “getting it right” can fix.

Why We Must Face What We Feel

When we allow ourselves to feel—fully, honestly—we begin to reclaim our lives.

We start to:
✅ Grieve what needs grieving
✅ Name what we truly want
✅ Heal old patterns that no longer serve us
✅ Reconnect with our bodies and intuition
✅ Build relationships rooted in truth, not performance

Feeling is not weakness.
Feeling is wisdom.

It teaches us what matters.
It guides us toward what we need.
It shows us how to live—not just exist.

My Journey From Numbing to Noticing

I won’t lie to you: learning to sit with my emotions after years of numbing wasn’t easy.

In sobriety, in healing work, in building Tevahri… there have been moments where old pain has surfaced and I’ve wanted nothing more than to run.

But I’ve learned this simple truth:

You cannot heal what you refuse to feel.

And each time I’ve chosen to feel—whether through tears, through journaling, through sitting in stillness—I’ve felt lighter. Freer. More alive.

Not overnight. Not perfectly. But more and more, one courageous moment at a time.

For You, If You’re Numbing

If any part of this resonates with you—if you’ve been numbing, avoiding, overworking, or over-serving others—I want you to know:
✨ You are not broken.
✨ You are not alone.
✨ You are worthy of feeling—and healing.

You don’t have to do it all at once.
You can start small:

• Notice when you’re reaching for distraction.

• Pause before you dive into busyness.

• Ask yourself: What am I feeling right now? What might this be trying to show me?

Every moment of awareness is a step toward freedom.

Because the life waiting for you—on the other side of numb—is fuller, richer, and more beautiful than you can imagine.

You were made to feel.
You were made to heal.
And you are worthy of living wide awake.

💬 Keep Reading

🔹 When the Life You Prayed For Still Feels Heavy
What do you do when healing arrives, but the weight doesn’t lift? This is the hidden grief no one talks about.

🔹 Seeing Our Past Through Clear Eyes
In recovery, you gain clarity. And with that clarity comes a new relationship to the truth—and to yourself.

Seeing Our Past Through Clear Eyes

Why Healing Sometimes Feels Heavier Before It Feels Lighter

Recovery teaches us many things—chief among them is this: the farther we get from the chaos of the past, the more we can see it clearly.

But no one really warns you how hard that clarity can hit.

I’ve been sober for nearly four years now. Life is steady, focused, purposeful. I’m building things that matter—relationships, businesses, dreams. By all accounts, I should feel proud. Grateful. Free.

And yet… for some time now, a heaviness has followed me. A low, quiet sadness that’s hard to shake.

I’ve wondered why. Why—after years of progress—am I now feeling more down? Why am I revisiting old regrets I thought I’d long since laid to rest?

Then, just the other day, it clicked.

I’m seeing my past through clear eyes.

Not through the distorted lens of alcohol.
Not through the frantic busyness of “fixing” my life.
Not through the protective numbness I wore for so long.

But through the unfiltered, sober truth of where I’ve been—and who I was.

And that truth can be brutal.

The Paradox of Healing

In the beginning, sobriety is about survival.
Just getting through the day. Learning how to sit with feelings that once would have sent us running for a drink, or a distraction.

Then comes repair—mending relationships, building new habits, carving out a future that looks nothing like the past.

But somewhere down the line, when life finally quiets… that’s when the deeper healing starts.

Because now, we can finally face the parts of ourselves we didn’t have the capacity to look at before.
Now, we can remember things as they really were—not sugarcoated, not rationalized.

And for many of us, this stage of healing can feel heavier than the chaos ever did.

Why?
Because it’s the first time we’re feeling it all—fully, soberly, honestly.

Grieving Who We Were

There is grief in sobriety.
Grief for the years lost.
Grief for the ways we hurt others.
Grief for the person we were, and the person we could have been.

And sometimes—this is what surprised me—there is grief even for the pre-addiction version of ourselves.

I’ve found myself revisiting choices I made long before alcohol was in the picture. Behaviors rooted in fear, insecurity, survival.
And now, with clearer eyes, I can see just how lost I was… even back then.

It’s easy to beat ourselves up in these moments. To judge our younger selves harshly, forgetting that we did the best we could with what we knew at the time.

But here’s the truth I’m learning (slowly, imperfectly):
👉 The fact that I feel this grief doesn’t mean I’m failing.
👉 It means I’ve healed enough to face what’s true.
👉 It means my heart has grown bigger—not harder.

The Courage to Keep Going

If you’re in this place—sober, but weighed down by a past that feels too big to carry—please know:
✨ You are not alone.
✨ You are not doing it wrong.
✨ You are in the sacred space of becoming.

Healing isn’t linear.
It isn’t always light and celebratory.
Sometimes it looks like sitting in the quiet with old pain and saying:
“I see you now. And I choose to move forward anyway.”

A Note to My Past Self (and Maybe Yours)

To the younger me—before addiction, during addiction, and in early recovery:
You did the best you could.
You survived things no one saw.
You fought battles no one knew.

And now—because of all you’ve endured—I get to live this life with clear eyes, an open heart, and a second chance.

I won’t waste it.
I won’t shame you anymore.
I will honor you… by continuing to heal.

You are not your past.
You are the person who chose to heal from it.
And that is everything.

💬 Keep Reading

🔹 The Cost of Numbing: What We Miss When We Avoid Our Feelings
Addiction and perfectionism helped us avoid the truth. But healing asks us to finally look—and feel.

🔹 When the Life You Prayed For Still Feels Heavy
Post-recovery doesn’t always feel light. Sometimes peace invites you to feel everything you once buried.

🌪️ Wrangling Glitter in the Wind: The Beautiful Mess of Becoming

Let’s be honest…

Some days I wake up on fire—vision clear, to-do list ready, Canva tabs open, healing playlist cued. I feel like the CEO of my purpose. Unstoppable. Aligned. Full of light.

And other days?

Other days I’m trying to organize 37 browser tabs, 5 Canva designs, 3 business ideas, and one fragile nervous system… all while wrangling glitter in the wind.

Welcome to the sacred, chaotic art of becoming.

🌀 This Is What Reinvention Looks Like

Nobody told me that healing, starting over, and building something meaningful would feel like a full-contact sport. One minute I’m crying in gratitude because someone resonated with my words. The next I’m crying because I can’t remember my Squarespace login.

But here’s the truth I keep circling back to:

The mess is not a problem.
The overwhelm is not a weakness.
The glitter—every shiny, scattered, unpredictable piece of it—is part of the transformation.

🧹 It’s Not Just a Business. It’s a Becoming.

Tevahri isn’t just a brand I’m building. It’s the blueprint of my own rebirth.

It’s for those of us who know what it’s like to claw our way back—after addiction, after burnout, after years of playing small and apologizing for our own light.

It’s for the visionaries who still hear that voice whisper, “Who do you think you are?” and are learning to answer, “Exactly who I was meant to be.”

Some days we feel unstoppable. Other days we’re stuck.

That’s why I created a workbook called Stuck to Unstoppable—not because I’ve mastered the shift, but because I’m living it, one breath at a time.

✨ What I’ve Learned from the Glitter Storm

• You don’t have to be polished to be powerful.

• Clarity doesn’t always come before action. Sometimes it comes from it.

• The mess doesn’t disqualify you. It’s the compost of something blooming.

• Healing and building can happen at the same time. They don’t have to take turns.

And most of all:

You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

📥 Ready to Gather Your Glitter?

If any of this hits close to home, you’re not alone—and you’re definitely not too late.

💬 Share this blog with a friend who needs to hear they’re not crazy—they’re in the becoming
📲 Follow along on YouTube or Instagram (@Tevahri) where we talk about the real stuff: mindset, reinvention, recovery, and all the brilliant, scattered pieces in between.

💛 From One Gloriously Messy Human to Another...

You don’t have to wait until you’ve figured it all out.
Start where you are.
With glitter on your cheek, coffee in your hand, and that quiet fire in your belly.

Let’s build something beautiful from the chaos.

– Sabrina Winters, Tevahri

“The Truth About Imposter Syndrome (and What Finally Disarmed It)”

There’s a voice that sneaks in when I’m building something meaningful.
It doesn’t shout. It whispers.

“You’re not qualified.”
“You’re just pretending.”
“You’re not healed enough to help anyone else.”

It’s called imposter syndrome, and it doesn’t care how capable or experienced we are.
It thrives in silence.
But when you name it? You disarm it.

I’ve run businesses.
I’ve helped others rebuild their lives and careers after addiction.
I’ve shown up—with honesty, strategy, and service.

And still, that voice shows up too.
Especially when I’m doing something new, vulnerable, or deeply important.
Especially when I care.

For years, I let that voice sit in the front seat.
Even when clients said, “You’ve changed my life.”
Even when I was building something real and rooted.

Because here’s the truth:
Imposter syndrome doesn’t go away when you get “better.”
It fades when you start telling the truth.

The truth about who you are.
The truth about what you’ve survived.
The truth about what you're still learning—and how that makes you even more equipped, not less.

So today, I’m saying this for you—and maybe a little for me too:

You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.
You don’t have to be finished to be faithful to the work.

You just have to keep showing up with integrity.

🌀 Tevahri Truth:

“Imposter syndrome doesn’t care how capable or experienced we are—
it thrives in silence. But when you name it? You disarm it.”

🔗 Ready to Rise?

If you’re rebuilding life or career after addiction, and wondering if you’re “enough” to start—let’s quiet that voice together.

💬 We rise as we are.
📅 Book your clarity session at Tevahri.com

No More Shrinking to Fit

For most of my life, I made myself smaller so others wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
I dimmed my light, softened my opinions, and kept my ideas quiet—just to avoid being “too much.” Too loud. Too ambitious. Too emotional. Too driven.
Too me.

And let me tell you something: that kind of shrinking?
It’s exhausting. It’s lonely. And it’s a betrayal of who you were created to be.

I didn’t realize how much of my voice I had silenced until I started rebuilding my life from the inside out—after addiction, after burnout, after believing for far too long that I had to earn my worth.

But here’s the truth I know now:
Playing small doesn’t protect you. It erases you.

So I stopped.
I stopped minimizing my magic to make others more comfortable in their mediocrity.
I stopped apologizing for dreaming bigger than my past.
I stopped twisting myself into shapes I was never meant to hold.

Now, I speak. I create. I show up.
Unapologetically. Honestly. Fully.

If you’ve been shrinking to fit—into a relationship, a role, a job, a version of yourself you outgrew long ago—I want you to know something:

You don’t have to anymore.

You get to take up space.
You get to raise your hand.
You get to start again without shame.

The world needs what only you can bring.

And you were never too much—you were just around people who wanted less.

🔥 Why Playing Small No Longer Serves You

You didn’t fight to survive just to shrink when it’s time to shine.

🪞 The Survival Mindset

Recovery teaches us how to survive—how to rebuild, how to stay steady, how to protect our peace.
And at some point, those survival skills?
They become our comfort zone.

• We stop reaching.

• We settle for “good enough.”

• We hesitate to be bold, to be seen, to speak up.

Because deep down, a voice whispers:

“Who do you think you are to want more than this?”

That voice is lying to you.
And it’s time to call it out.

💣 Fear of Failure? Maybe.

But Fear of Success? That’s the real thing.

It sounds wild, right?
Why would we fear getting what we want?

Because success means:

• Visibility

• Responsibility

• Accountability

• And sometimes… outgrowing the people who only knew us when we were struggling

Success demands expansion—and that can feel like a threat to the version of us that just got comfortable.

💡 The Hidden Truth: Playing Small Keeps You “Safe” (But Stuck)

Here’s what playing small looks like:

• Not applying because you don’t feel “qualified”

• Not sharing your story because it might “make people uncomfortable”

• Not starting your dream business because you fear what people will say

• Dimming your joy or power so others feel less threatened

But guess what?
Your healing didn’t happen for you to shrink back into the shadows.
You are here to take up space.
To be a mirror for what’s possible.

💬 Reflective Prompt

“What part of you are you still hiding because it feels too big?”

• Is it your creativity?

• Your story?

• Your ambition?

• Your desire to lead, to teach, to guide?

Whatever it is, that’s your edge.
That’s the part of you asking to be expanded—not silenced.

🎯 Call to Action

You didn’t go through all that healing just to play it safe.
You’re not “too much.” You’re finally becoming enough for yourself.

If you're ready to step into your next level—without apology—Tevahri is here to walk with you.
Because playing small may have kept you safe,
but it will never make you free.

Rerouted, Not Ruined: Why Detours Aren’t Mistakes

I used to think I had fallen behind.
I looked at the timeline I thought I should be on, compared it to others, and convinced myself I was late to my own life.

But what I’ve come to understand—through recovery, reinvention, and the quiet moments of rebuilding—is this:
I wasn’t behind. I was being redirected.

🚧 When Things Fall Apart, They're Often Falling Into Place

There’s a specific kind of grief that comes with watching your old life unravel. The job that didn’t work out. The relationship that ended. The version of yourself you had to let go of just to stay alive.

At the time, it felt like loss.
But with hindsight, I now see it was grace disguised as disruption.

Sometimes, the universe doesn’t ask you to surrender—it forces your hand. Not out of cruelty, but out of clarity.

🔁 Redirection Is Sacred Work

It’s easy to glorify the comeback. The glow-up. The reinvention.
But what we don’t talk about enough is the void in between.

The space between endings and beginnings can feel excruciating.
But it’s in that space where truth settles in:

• Who am I without the old labels?

• What do I really want?

• What am I being called to now?

It’s not a setback—it’s a sacred recalibration.

🌱 If You're in the In-Between, You're Not Alone

Whether you’re navigating recovery, rethinking your career, or rebuilding after a personal storm…
You’re not lost.
You’re being led.

It’s okay if it doesn’t look like progress.
Sometimes the most important transformations are silent and slow.

✍️ Journal Prompt:

“Have you ever been grateful for something not working out?
What did that ‘loss’ make space for instead?”

💬 Closing Thought:

Your timeline isn’t late.
Your detours weren’t mistakes.
Your redirection wasn’t failure—it was a sacred invitation back to yourself.

Recovery Teaches You to Swim in Deep Waters

Why surviving your storm makes you the strongest swimmer in the room

💥 The Opening Hit

No one ends up in recovery because life was easy.
We arrive because somewhere along the line, it got too dark to stay where we were.
And when you’ve fought that kind of battle—when you’ve clawed your way back from rock bottom—you don’t come out soft.
You come out sea-tested.

You don’t just survive recovery.
You learn to swim in deep water—the kind most people will never touch.

🧠 The Recovery Skillset (That No Resume Lists)

What the world doesn’t always understand is that recovery builds more than sobriety.
It builds:

• Emotional intelligence (you've learned to sit with hard truths)

• Resilience (you keep going when most would collapse)

• Radical self-awareness (you’ve dissected your pain to reclaim your power)

• Unshakable courage (you faced the parts of yourself others run from)

You’ve had to rebuild your identity, your routine, your relationships—sometimes your entire life.
That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

⚡️ The Lie: “Recovery Sets You Back”

Let’s debunk that real quick.

The lie:

“You’re behind. You wasted time. You don’t have what it takes.”

The truth:

Recovery is an accelerated education in life, leadership, and emotional mastery.

Most people are still avoiding their pain.
You faced yours—and you’re still standing.

That makes you a force of nature.

🪞 Your Prompt…. Get the Mirror Out

Ask yourself this:

“How has your healing made you stronger, wiser, or more capable—even if others can’t see it yet?”

Write it down.
Say it out loud.
Let it become your new truth.

Because what you've lived through doesn't disqualify you—it qualifies you to lead.

🔁 Reframe: From “Recovery Story” to Leadership Story

You didn’t just get sober.
You didn’t just “bounce back.”
You transformed—from surviving to rising.

Now you get to use what you’ve earned.

• In your next job interview

• In your business

• In your parenting

• In your relationships

• In your community

You’ve got depth, insight, and fire that no certificate or degree can give you.

🎯 Call to Action

If you’re ready to stop shrinking and start leading with the wisdom recovery gave you—Tevahri is here.
This is your space to grow, build, and swim even deeper.
Let’s turn your survival into your legacy.

🌀 When Clarity Feels Scarier Than Confusion

Why Knowing What You Want Can Shake You More Than Not Knowing at All

✨ Intro: The Paradox of Clarity

We talk about getting clear as if it’s the end goal. And in some ways, it is—especially in recovery. We crave direction. We want to know what’s next. We ache for that moment when the fog lifts and we finally know what we’re here to do.

But what no one tells you is this:
Clarity is terrifying.

Because once you see the path forward—really see it—you can’t unsee it. And that means you’re faced with the responsibility of choosing it… or not.

🎯 Confusion Is Comfortable (In Its Own Way)

In the grip of confusion, we get to stall.
We say things like:

• “I’m just figuring things out.”

• “I don’t know what I want yet.”

• “Now’s not the right time.”

And no judgment—sometimes confusion is part of the healing. But often, confusion becomes a safehouse. A place to hide when the thought of fully stepping into our next chapter feels too raw, too big, too permanent.

Why? Because:

• What if I try and fail?

• What if people don’t support me?

• What if I succeed and don’t know how to hold it?

🔍 Clarity Shines a Light on What’s Possible… and What Must Change

Suddenly, you’re aware that:

• That job you’re holding onto doesn’t align with who you’re becoming.

• That relationship isn’t rooted in respect or growth.

• That version of yourself you keep shrinking into no longer fits.

Clarity demands action—and action demands courage. And let’s be honest: courage is exhausting when you’ve spent years surviving.

💬 Let’s Be Real: You’re Not Broken for Feeling Fear

If this is where you are—knowing what you want but frozen by the weight of it—please hear this:

You are not broken.
You are not weak.
You are not ungrateful.

You are simply human. And you are healing.

It makes perfect sense that you’d feel scared right now.
Clarity is a call forward, but it can also feel like a threat to everything familiar.

🛤️ What Would You Choose If Fear Wasn’t in the Driver’s Seat?

Let this question sit with you:

“What would I choose if fear wasn’t calling the shots?”

Don’t worry about how it will all work.
Just allow yourself to answer honestly.

• Would you finally apply for that program?

• Launch that business idea?

• Leave the job that’s draining your soul?

• Share your story out loud?

Write it down. Say it out loud.
Let the truth become a whisper you start listening to—day by day, moment by moment.

🙌 Closing: Let Clarity Be the Beginning, Not the Pressure

You don’t have to take the leap all at once.
Clarity isn’t about speed—it’s about alignment.

Take one small step today. Just one.
Let it prove to you that you are capable of holding the truth of who you’re becoming.

Call to Action……
If this resonated, share this post with someone who’s been “in the fog.”
And if you’re ready to explore your next step in a safe, empowering space—Tevahri is here for you.
Your next chapter doesn’t have to be a solo climb.

Healing Isn’t Linear—And Neither Is Reinvention

If you’ve ever had one of those “I thought I was past this” moments…
Same.

You make a big decision.
You sign up for the program.
You show up, on fire, ready to change your life.

And then—without warning—you're spiraling in self-doubt, questioning everything, wondering if you should just go back to what’s familiar.

That’s not failure.
That’s healing.
That’s reinvention.
And guess what? It’s not supposed to be linear.

The Highlight Reel Will Lie to You

Online, everyone makes it look like their glow-up was one smooth, perfectly lit transformation montage.
But real growth is messy.
One day you’re on a clarity high.
The next, you’re sitting in your car overthinking whether you’re qualified to dream at all.

I’ve lived that loop more times than I can count.

And every time I thought I was “slipping back,” I was actually stepping deeper into the work.

Progress Looks Like Pauses, Not Just Push

Let’s normalize the stumbles.
Let’s normalize the “off” weeks.
Let’s normalize questioning everything you once thought you were sure about.

Because reinventing your life—especially after recovery, burnout, or a season of surviving—requires more than discipline.
It requires self-compassion.

And let me be real with you:
Self-compassion is the most radical thing I’ve ever learned to practice.
It’s also the one thing that keeps me coming back to my why, even when my how feels shaky.

Your Path Won’t Look Like Theirs—and That’s the Point

You’re not here to walk a straight line.
You’re here to carve a path that’s honest, human, and yours.

So if this season feels circular, like you’re going back to lessons you thought you’d mastered—
you’re not broken.
You’re integrating.

And if you’re still here, still showing up, still trying again—
that’s not a setback.
That’s sacred.

Reflection Prompt:

Where in your journey are you expecting a straight line—when what you really need is grace for the curve?

Write it down. Then remind yourself:
Healing doesn’t have a timeline. Reinvention doesn’t follow a map.
And you, my friend, are right on time.

I Thought I Was Behind… Until I Realized I Was Rebuilding

For a long time, I wore the feeling of being “behind” like a second skin.
Behind in my career.
Behind in healing.
Behind other people my age who had matching dinnerware and retirement plans.

It wasn’t just comparison. It was shame.
The kind that whispers, “If you’d gotten it together sooner, you wouldn’t be here.”

But here’s what no one tells you:
When everything you built was burned to the ground—whether by addiction, burnout, grief, or just plain misalignment—you’re not behind.
You’re rebuilding.

The Lie of “Too Late”

We live in a world obsessed with timelines:
Graduate by this age.
Marry by that one.
Climb the ladder, make the six figures, own the home, stay in the box.

But for people like us—people who’ve lived through it, who’ve lost things, left things, or let go of lives that looked good on paper—those timelines don’t fit.
And that’s not failure.
That’s freedom.

Rebuilding Requires Ruins

You can’t rebuild something that wasn’t torn down first.
And while I don’t romanticize the pain of starting over, I do honor the power of it.

Because the truth is:
You don’t rebuild from shame.
You rebuild from clarity.
From grit.
From standing in the ashes and deciding: This time, it’s going to be different.

This time, it’s going to be real.
Aligned.
Whole.

If You Feel “Behind,” You’re Probably On Track

The fact that you’re even aware of what’s misaligned? That you want more, that you’re doing the scary, tender work of change?
That’s not behind.
That’s brave.

Your healing timeline is not too slow.
Your career path is not too messy.
Your life is not too late.

You’re rebuilding.
And rebuilding takes longer.
But it builds better.

Reflect With Me

If this hit home, pause for a second and ask yourself:

What are you calling “behind” that’s actually part of your rebuilding?
Write it down. Say it out loud. Then let it go.

You’re not behind. You’re becoming.
And that? That’s where the legacy starts.

I Didn’t Come This Far Just to... Start a Blog

Let me be clear: I didn’t claw my way through trauma, addiction, late-night Google searches for “how to change your life at 40,” and the occasional existential spiral just to start a blog.

But here we are.

Because somewhere between rebuilding my life, going back to school, and launching a business that actually means something, I realized I had a few things to say. Not from a pedestal. Not from a perfectly curated Instagram grid. But from the messy, beautiful middle—where healing meets hustle, and grace shows up wearing sneakers and a coffee-stained hoodie.

This blog isn’t just a digital journal or some “dear diary, I’m evolving” situation. It’s a corner of the internet for those of us who’ve been through the fire and are still standing—sometimes shakily, sometimes sassily, but always with heart.

Why I Started Tevahri

Tevahri was born from the ashes (literally and metaphorically). It’s for the woman—or man—who’s walked through addiction, burnout, grief, or that sneaky voice that whispers you’re not good enough and decided, “Not today, shame. I’ve got sh*t to do.”

It’s for the person who wants to build something—maybe a new career, maybe a new life—but doesn’t want to do it alone, in silence, or pretending like it’s easy.

Here, we talk pivots. Purpose. Possibility. And yes, some occasional profanity. Because when you’ve been through some things, sometimes “gosh darn it” just doesn’t cut it.

What You Can Expect

Expect real talk. The kind of content that doesn’t try to sell you a perfect morning routine or convince you that the answer is always kale. (No offense to kale.)

I’ll be writing about:
– Career change after chaos
– Building a business with soul
– Recovery—not just from substances, but from people-pleasing, perfectionism, and playing small
– Mental health and motivation (on the days when even brushing your teeth feels like a win)
– And probably memes. Because laughter is holy.

If You’re Still Here, We’re Already on the Same Page

So if something I say sparks something in you—drop a comment, shoot me a message, or send me your favorite GIF of a dog doing something totally chaotic or heart-melting (bonus points for floppy ears or dramatic side-eyes). Let’s connect.

Because I didn’t come this far just to start a blog.
I came this far to build a legacy.
Let’s get to it.