The Awakening (As I Know It)
On NDEs, remembering, and what real awakening looks like
When people talk about “awakening,” they usually mean some sudden shift or realization that flips the world upside down. For me, it wasn’t just one moment. My near-death experience played a big part, sure, but what really woke me up was what happened before and after it.
A few months before my NDE, everything started to fall apart. My anxiety disorder got so bad, there wasn’t a pill or a drink on Earth that could touch it. I was drinking a bottle of vodka a night, popping pills, and still shaking on the floor in full panic. I started praying, not to get better, but to be taken out of here. I didn’t believe in ending my life myself, but I was begging the universe to do it for me. Everything around me was collapsing. My comedy didn’t feel funny anymore. I couldn’t connect to anything. And just when it felt like it couldn’t get worse, it did. That’s when I started getting sick.
But here’s the thing. Even before I got sick, something strange was already happening. The world started to feel different. I could drink or smoke all I wanted, but the shift was still happening. Something bigger was moving, and I could feel it. It was like everything needed to be stripped away to make room for what was coming.
Then came the NDE. And after that? Everything changed. I started remembering things from my childhood, crystal clear, like watching a film. Memories I hadn’t thought of in decades came rushing in. And it didn’t stop. The remembering, the awareness, the shifts in perspective, they kept coming. Still do.
That’s what I mean when I say awakening isn’t a destination. It’s a process. A long, layered unraveling of who you thought you were and a remembering of who you’ve always been.
At first, it flipped everything. The way I saw money. Love. Identity. I used to think I had to be in a relationship to be somebody. I believed love had to come from outside of me. That my purpose had to be this big thing I could name and chase down. Now I see things differently. You’re not going to find yourself in someone else. Your identity is already in you. It’s the observer in your own mind. The one sitting still, watching it all unfold.
And as for purpose? Maybe the whole point is the search. Maybe we’re supposed to keep unfolding, layer after layer. Every time you think you’ve figured it out, another door opens. Another thread unravels. That’s not failure. That’s growth.
Loss has been a huge part of it, too. I lost my brother. I lost my aunt. I lost my dog. I lost my cat Caramel. And in a way, I lost my niece to a stroke. That kind of grief brings a heaviness that survivor’s guilt can pile on top of. Why did I come back? Why did they leave? But the deeper I went, the more I started to see that death isn’t the tragedy we make it out to be. Living is the hard part. Dying is just a transition. And when we grieve, we’re not grieving for the ones who left. We’re grieving for ourselves. That realization shifted something big in me.
Caramel was with me through all of it. From the moment my dad brought him home in a storm as a tiny orange kitten, to the day I said goodbye. He saw me through every phase, when I couldn’t walk, when I couldn’t find myself, when I didn’t even want to be here. He didn’t judge. He just stayed. Losing him wasn’t punishment. It wasn’t wrong. It was just time. And even though he’s gone in body, he’s still with me. Love doesn’t go anywhere.
These days, I don’t take things so personally. Someone doesn’t say thank you when I hold the door? Who cares. I didn’t do it for a thank you. I just did it because it felt like the right thing to do. Same goes for giving. I give when I feel called to. If someone’s standing on a street corner asking for money, I give what I can. If they use it for food or drugs or anything else, that’s not my business. I don’t give with conditions. I give because I want to. That’s what I’ve learned.
And I can’t stand performative giving. The people who record themselves handing out cash or brag about their generosity like it’s a brand. Don’t do it if you need applause. Stay home.
Awakening, for me, isn’t about finding some perfect spiritual identity. It’s about shedding the false stuff. The need to control. The need to be right. The need to prove anything to anyone. Life is messy. Awakening doesn’t clean it up. It just changes how you see it.
And funny enough, I almost rushed out my e-book before it was ready. I was trying to get it done for the sake of getting it done. But the universe had other plans. I hit a wall. Had to pause. And in that space, I realized it wasn’t done because it wasn’t done. So I added more chapters, gave it a new name, and now it’s out.
It’s called Wake the Hell Up, and it’s not for people who want feel-good spiritual slogans. It’s for people who want the truth. The raw, real, not-always-pretty truth. It’s about what awakening actually feels like when you’re in the middle of it, trying to survive a collapsing identity, a broken world, and still find your way home.
(Available now on Apple Books, Kobo, Amazon and more)
If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope something in this hit home. And if you’re feeling lost right now, just know being lost isn’t the end. It might just be the invitation to wake up.
