What I Wish I Could Have Told Her
The greatest teacher of my life
Pathways to Self, The Introduction (condensed):
"There is a theory in past life regression work that a soul's first incarnation into the physical world is that of a dog. The theory has always made sense to me, because dogs are the closest we come to the experience of unconditional love. It is why, when I lost Lucy, my sixteen-and-a-half-year-old puggle, while reviewing the final manuscript of this book, I knew I had to write this introduction with her in mind.
The most unexpected part of losing her has been the shift in identity I experienced. The emptiness that followed, and the sudden reshaping of my role in the world, has been jarring. I no longer go for walks with her first thing in the morning. I no longer rush home every few hours.
Through three decades of my life, though, she was my co-adventurer in crime, my reminder of true, soul-connected love. She witnessed every reinvention in my multi-passionate path, from a stressed-out gala and fashion show producer in downtown Toronto to uncovering my inner medicine woman, to unexpectedly guiding hundreds through subconscious deep dives during the pandemic, all while I was navigating my own.
And now, as I am now, more in my power and purpose than ever before.
Work-wise, I am the cofounder of an impact advisory firm, House of Impact, using my years in philanthropy to contribute to projects that will ripple across generations. [As I've been sharing in my previous newsletters, I am also soon to be launching a huge dream of mine alongside my family, right here in Costa Rica. I'll share more about it below!] The work I do now doesn't feel like work, it feels like inner purpose manifested in the outer world. But more than the work, even in the midst of grief, I am at peace. I am in full trust. Not because life is predictable, but because I know how to return to myself.
So, as always, I return to the lessons and tools I share in this book. I remember. I ride the waves of grief while holding gratitude, knowing that two things can be true. Love, in all its forms, has been the great teacher of my life."
My hope
"By the end of [Pathways to Self], my hope is not that you follow my path, but that you trust your own.
Because if I told eight-year-old me this is the life she would live, she wouldn't have believed me. I wish I could tell her, as she moved across the world, immigrated to a new country, and was teased and bullied as she learned English, that one day she would win a book-writing competition by one of the largest personal development publishers in the world.
I wish I could tell twenty-year-old me that missing re-entry into her media program by .05 percent would lead her to switch into art, fall in love with philosophy, and flex her fundraising arm, launching her career as an event producer and eventually foreshadowing her purpose in impact and philanthropy.
I wish I could tell thirty-year-old me to jump headfirst into network marketing, even when others judged her and weren't supportive. Because through that industry she would discover personal development, devour hundreds of books, mentor thousands, and travel the world helping others build vehicles for their dreams and desires.
I wish I could tell thirty-five-year-old me that even in her darkest night of the soul, in the midst of grief, loss, and desperation, a deeper inner understanding, authenticity, and purpose were being forged.
But I couldn't tell her. She had to live it."
The room I still see
Years earlier, in hypnotherapy training, I was partnered with a classmate named Connie. There were over a hundred of us in that room, and it was loud, everyone practicing hypnosis inductions on each other for the first time. But once she started counting me down, the noise fell away completely.
She guided me back to the home I grew up in, every detail of it already waiting for me the moment I opened the front door in my mind. I made my way up the stairs to my childhood bedroom. And when I opened the door, I saw her. Me, maybe four years old, sitting alone in the room. Little me immediately recognized older me, and older me immediately recognized little me. I noticed my tiny fingers, my soft feet, my lush lips. My innocence radiated so intensely that my heart cracked open.
"I want you to take little you by the hand or wrap her in your arms…" I do as she suggests.
"Tell her she is loved," Connie whispered. "Tell her she is safe. Tell her she is lovable, and enough, and worthy, and that everything she wants is available to her."
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I told her everything I had spent decades starving for. Approval. Belonging. Safety. Love. I gave her back everything I had been chasing from the outside world, and reminded her that what she was already perfect, already whole.
I still keep a photograph of myself as a baby in my office. My mom's mom, my Nona, is holding my hands, helping me walk. Behind her, my Savta, my dad's mom, watches with pure, unfiltered pride. I was once that perfect little being. Miraculous. Wanted. Adored. Divine in my humanity. And the truth is, I still am. That photo is my reminder.
My family welcomes you to ORA
None of this, the book, the years of work behind it, the woman writing to you right now, exists without my family. Pathways to Self is dedicated to them. It wouldn't exist otherwise.
In my first few newsletters, I started to tell you about the party that changed everything: my brother Tal's fiftieth birthday, the epic band, the property he and his family built with the ocean on one side and the jungle on the other. What I didn't tell you is what happened after the music stopped. Guest after guest pulled one of us aside that night and said some version of the same thing: I wish I could bring my people here.
My cousin Sharon heard it too. She's been coming in and out of Nosara for over a decade; her rental property is the reason I ended up here in the first place. She also has a gift for marketing and storytelling, a talent that she was so generous in sharing as I was writing this book, her support for which I am forever grateful. That night, the three of us, Sharon, Tal, and I, started talking. My background is retreats. Hers is telling a powerful story. Tal is a seasoned CEO. My mom an interior designer, my sister in law a Naturopathic doctor. Somehow, between all of us and our love for this magical space, it just made sense.
We named it ORA. It will boast 12 bedrooms to start, a sunrise yoga shala, red light sauna and cold plunge and all of the details that make this place special to all of us. Because it was in retreat spaces that I first learned how to receive, not just give, how to connect with others, and with myself, and how to fall in love with every part of who I am. Now, through ORA, alongside my family, we get to cultivate that same opportunity for others.
We are opening our doors November 2026, which means this dream manifestation is truly just around the corner. Although the brand isn't fully launched yet, we are accepting reservations, so if you ever wanted to come to Costa Rica, this is your official invitation!
What self-love actually means
We come into this world as a pure miracle. A speck of consciousness developing through a spark of inception into a living, breathing, thinking, feeling organism. We are pure extensions of love, expressed and unapologetic.
And then the ego develops. And with it, separation. We begin to feel different. Unlovable, unworthy, not enough. We form conclusions in moments, tiny ruptures that land in the body before they ever land in language.
Self-love, I have learned, is not about grand trauma. It is about the meaning we made in small moments.
The path toward authentic self-love is not about becoming anything. It is about unbecoming what we are not. It is about releasing the belief that something is wrong with us. It is about realizing that self-love is not earned through achievement, beauty, service, or sacrifice. It is remembered.
THIS WEEK'S PRACTICE
Self-Love
1. Find the photo. Find a picture of yourself as a baby or young child. Sit with it for a few quiet minutes. Let yourself really look. Not quickly, not in passing. Take it in.
2. Just look. Notice the face. The eyes. The softness. The body. The smallness. The innocence. The essence looking back at you before the world told you who to be. Without analyzing, simply observe.
3. Ask the questions. At what point did this being begin to believe they were not enough? When did love become something to earn? When did they start to feel like they had to be different to be loved? Let the questions land, not in your mind, but in your body.
4. Change the lens. Stay with the image and shift your attention. If this child were in front of you right now, how would you look at them? How would you speak to them? What would you never say to them that you have said to yourself? Let that register.
5. Speak the truth. Softly, begin to relate to yourself through that same lens. Place your hand on your heart and acknowledge what is true: you were never meant to become someone else to be worthy of love. Nothing you have done has made you less deserving of it. Stay with the image for a few more moments. Not to fix anything. Not to change anything. Just to remember.
Missed last week's newsletter? Check it out here.
I'll see you next Friday for Chapter 8: Self-Confidence.