My Spirit Was Shaped by Fire
A big part of who I am today comes from my spiritual journey— finding what grounded me, what made me feel at home in my own skin, and sometimes questioning the very things I once believed offered me comfort.
There were times I turned to food, unhealthily.
There were times I turned to restriction, unhealthily.
And there were times I searched outside of myself for something— anything—that could quiet the noise inside me. Within the past few years, I’ve come to recognize that my spirituality wasn’t born from peace. It was born from chaos, mistakes, and breaking apart more times than I can count.
Every time I broke apart, I had to rebuild. And every time I put myself back together, I came back different. My spirituality looked different, too. My darkest nights taught me more about spirituality than the light ever could. My spirit wasn’t taught. It was shaped by fire. And while the fire burned around me, slowly I learned how to harness some of that fire and use it to ignite something within me.
While I questioned my spirit, I began finding the things that made me feel closer to my soul. Not the things I was told should make me feel spiritual. The things that actually did.
Pilates. Meditation. Grounding. These have become three pillars beneath me—not because they make life perfect, but because they bring me back to myself. Pilates taught me that strength doesn’t always have to be loud. Sometimes strength is a tiny movement, a shaking muscle, one more breath when your body is begging you to stop. It has taught me to listen to my body instead of constantly trying to control it. Meditation taught me that silence isn’t
something to fear. For so long, quiet left too much room for thoughts I didn’t want to hear. Now, I am learning that quiet can also be where I meet myself. And grounding reminds me that when my mind wants to wander into yesterday or race toward tomorrow, my body is still here. My feet are on the earth.
I am breathing. I am here.
Maybe that is what spirituality has become for me. Not having all the answers. Not pretending the fire never happened. Not forcing myself into someone else’s definition of healing, faith, strength, or peace. It is learning what brings me home to myself—and giving myself permission to return there as often as I need to.
There are still fires. There are still days when I question everything. There are still moments when old habits whisper that they could make things easier. There are still times when I don’t feel particularly grounded, peaceful, strong, or spiritual. But now I know where to return.
To the mat.
To my breath.
To the earth beneath my feet. To myself.
For years, I thought healing meant becoming the woman I was before everything happened. I don’t believe that anymore. I think healing is meeting the woman who walked through the fire and
asking her what she needs now. And lately, her answer has been surprisingly simple:
Move. Breathe.
Be still. Come home.
Because perhaps the greatest thing the fire taught me wasn’t how to escape it. It was how to find myself inside it. My spirit wasn’t destroyed by the fire-It was shaped by it.
Xoxo-Fab
💕