Choosing Myself Again
This afternoon felt like a gift.
Instead of staying indoors, I carried my yoga mat outside into our quiet little courtyard, surrounded by the bamboo grove. The gentle swaying of the bamboo in the wind created its own kind of music. The leaves rustled softly above me while patches of sunlight filtered through the branches, dancing across the ground. It was one of those moments that reminded me why I’ve fallen so deeply in love with mindfulness. Nature has a way of slowing everything down. It doesn’t ask anything from us except to be present. As I sat there listening to the wind and taking slow, deep breaths, I realized that peace isn’t always something we find—it is something we intentionally create.
The day had already been beautiful before I even stepped outside. This morning, I made myself one of my favorite Filipino breakfasts. Rice and longganisa may seem like a simple meal, but for me it carries so much more than flavor. Filipino food has always nourished more than my body—it nourishes my heart. Every bite reminds me of childhood, family gatherings, home, and especially my mom. Ever since she visited, I’ve definitely noticed that I’ve gained some weight. She spoiled me with home-cooked Filipino meals every day, and honestly, I don’t regret a single bite. Food has always been one of the ways my family expresses love. Today, I decided not to count calories or criticize myself for enjoying something that brings me comfort. Healing also means allowing ourselves moments of joy without attaching guilt to them. Some days we eat for fuel. Other days we eat for the soul. Today was for the soul.
As much as today has been peaceful, I can’t ignore that anxiety has been louder than usual lately. These past few weeks have challenged me emotionally. My mind has continued to search for answers about what comes next in my life. I’ve been thinking about where I truly belong, what kind of future I want to build, and what success actually means to me now that so much of my life has changed. For a long time, I believed my future would eventually lead me back to the Philippines permanently. I imagined slowing down, being closer to family, and creating a different kind of life. But lately, I’ve begun questioning whether that dream still fits the person I’ve become.
Living in the Bay Area has changed me in so many ways. It has allowed me to become the healthcare provider I always wished existed when I was younger. Every day, I have the privilege of serving patients in primary care and internal medicine, particularly within the LGBTQ+ community in the Castro. It’s a privilege I never take for granted. Lately, I’ve also been caring for more Filipino patients, which has been incredibly meaningful. There’s something special about hearing familiar accents, understanding cultural nuances without explanation, and seeing patients recommend me to their family members, friends, and coworkers. Moments like those remind me that trust is one of the greatest compliments a healthcare provider can receive.
Still, medicine is humbling.
No matter how much we care or how hard we try, there will always be moments when someone walks away feeling unheard or dissatisfied. Last week, I had a patient encounter that has stayed with me. We spent nearly an hour discussing a newly diagnosed chronic condition during what was originally scheduled as a twenty-minute appointment. I genuinely believed I was doing my best to educate, explain, and recommend evidence-based treatment before complications developed. My intention was to protect her future health, but intention doesn’t always translate into how our words are received. She later canceled her follow-up appointment with me, something I honestly expected after our conversation.
When I saw her name disappear from my schedule, I felt two emotions at the same time. Part of me felt relief because I no longer had to carry the anxiety of wondering how our next visit would go. The other part of me immediately began analyzing every detail of our previous conversation. Could I have slowed down? Could I have explained things differently? Could I have allowed more space for her emotions before discussing treatment options?
One of the most difficult parts of practicing medicine is accepting that we are always learning. Every patient teaches us something if we’re willing to listen. This experience reminded me that sometimes people don’t just need medical information—they need time to emotionally process what that information means for their lives. As much as I strive to practice evidence-based medicine, I also want to continue growing in the art of compassionate communication.
Outside of work, I’ve also been reflecting on relationships.
Recently, I reached out to someone I once considered one of my closest friends after our falling out. We’ve talked about possibly meeting this weekend, although nothing has been finalized. As I’ve waited for responses over the past several days, I’ve noticed something about myself. Waiting activates my anxiety. Silence becomes a canvas onto which my mind paints countless stories, most of which aren’t true. I’ve realized that uncertainty has always been one of my greatest emotional triggers.
At the same time, this experience has helped me question something even deeper.
Am I choosing myself?
It’s a simple question with a surprisingly complicated answer.
Part of me wants to reconnect because this person has shared so many important chapters of my life. They’ve witnessed milestones, heartbreaks, victories, and growth. But another part of me understands that history alone isn’t enough to sustain a healthy friendship. I don’t owe anyone my peace simply because they were present during difficult seasons. Gratitude doesn’t require self-sacrifice.
I’ve also come to realize that closure isn’t something another person gives us.
Closure is something we choose.
Sometimes the absence of communication is already the answer. Sometimes the lack of effort speaks louder than words ever could. Whether we reconnect or not, I know I’ll be okay because I’ve spent the last several years learning how to stop abandoning myself in order to keep other people comfortable.
That may be one of the greatest lessons of my healing journey.
After reflecting, I returned to my yoga practice beneath the bamboo. The sounds of nature became my meditation. Every slow inhale reminded me that my nervous system deserved rest. Every exhale became an opportunity to release another layer of worry that I had been carrying throughout the week. Looking up through the trees while lying on my mat, I couldn’t help but smile. It was beautiful. The sky looked endless. The bamboo danced effortlessly with the wind. Nature wasn’t rushing anywhere, and for those moments, neither was I.
One realization kept returning to me throughout the practice.
Choosing myself has changed everything.
I’ve lost people along the way, and there are days when I still grieve those losses. But I’ve also gained something I never had before: myself. By stepping outside of the roles I thought I had to play, I’ve discovered parts of me that had been hidden for years. Building this YouTube channel has been lonely at times, but it has also been one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. It has taught me discipline, resilience, consistency, and courage. Most importantly, it has given me a voice.
For so much of my life, people only knew pieces of me. They knew the outgoing version. The funny one. The cheerful one who could light up a room. What they didn’t always see was the deeply reflective person underneath. The emotional person. The one who journals, meditates, questions life, and searches for meaning. There were seasons when I hid those parts of myself because I worried they would make people uncomfortable.
Not anymore.
The more authentic I’ve become, the clearer my relationships have become as well. I’ve learned who truly celebrates my growth and who only felt comfortable with the smaller version of me. I’ve also become more intentional about expressing gratitude to the friends who stayed during my darkest chapters. There was a time in my life when I genuinely didn’t know if I could keep going. Those who continued to see my light when I couldn’t see it myself helped carry me through that season. I will never forget that.
Today, though, something feels different.
I no longer see myself as someone waiting to be chosen.
I choose myself.
Every single day.
This healing journey has taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s courage. Every reflection I share, every yoga session I upload, every honest conversation I have with this community chips away at the shame I once carried. I’m no longer afraid of being seen. I’m no longer trying to fit into someone else’s expectations of who I should be.
This is who I am.
A nurse practitioner who deeply cares for her patients.
A Filipino immigrant balancing two places that both feel like home.
A yoga teacher finding peace one breath at a time.
A creator discovering that authenticity resonates more deeply than perfection ever could.
And someone who is finally learning that her worth has never depended on how many people choose to stay.
As this channel continues to grow, so do my dreams. I still hope to someday own a home here in the Bay Area while also building a peaceful yoga retreat in the mountains near my family’s hometown in the Philippines—a place where people can disconnect from the noise of everyday life and reconnect with themselves through movement, mindfulness, community, and nature. It feels like a distant dream, but so did becoming a nurse practitioner. So did starting this YouTube channel. So did believing I deserved peace.
One dream at a time.
One breath at a time.
One authentic step at a time.
Thank you for walking alongside me on this healing journey. Thank you for seeing value in these reflections, in the yoga sessions, and in the quiet moments that often teach us the most. Whether you’ve been here since the beginning or you’ve only recently found this little corner of the internet, I hope these words remind you that choosing yourself isn’t selfish. Sometimes it’s the most loving thing you can do.
Here’s to continuing to heal, continuing to grow, and continuing to become exactly who we were always meant to be.
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