You Can’t Take It With You — But You Can Choose Peace
I heard something recently that struck a deep chord in me:
“The more we heal, the less ambitious we become.”
And I felt it in my bones — because I know it to be unequivocally true.
It also came at the perfect moment. I’d just been talking with my mom about You Can’t Take It With You, a play I’ve always loved. The whole story is a quiet rebellion against what we’re told to prioritize: money, status, material things. And it’s such a good reminder. None of that really matters in the end.
That thing about healing, though? It’s real. The more I’ve healed, the less I’ve wanted.
Years ago, a therapist asked me what I wanted for my future. I told her, “I just want to be at peace.” She pressed for more: marriage? kids? a big career? And sure, all those things are beautiful. But when I dream about the life I want, what I see is:
More time with my parents. My brother and sister happy and laughing. All of us healthy. More light, more presence.
One of the most beautiful things about healing is that it unfolds in its own time and season. I’m in a season where I feel more steady and at peace than I ever have. I haven’t often spoken about the depths of my personal healing journey, but tonight, I feel called to share a little more. Much of my twenties were spent in recovery from anorexia and bulimia. A journey that, at times, felt like a full-time job. I sort of treated it like one. For a while, I pulled away from the world with the intention of healing. In some ways, I knew I needed that solitude — but looking back, I also see how it meant closing myself off from the people who cared about me. I didn’t give them, or myself, the chance to be held through it. It was lonely. Unbelievably lonely and very scary. There were moments in my early 20s where I didn’t know if I’d live through the darkness I was in.
26 year old Emilie.
My 30s, though — they’ve been about healing through feeling. This has been the decade of letting myself feel everything I had once buried or disassociated from. And in a way, it feels like the final stretch of a path I’ve been walking for a very long time. Honestly, I hope healing is something that never fully ends as I grow older. Not because I want to stay in the thick of it, but because I want to keep meeting myself with grace and kindness, no matter what chapter I’m in.
36 year old Emilie.
I came across this quote last year from Kgopedi Lilokoe, whose words pierced straight through me like an arrow:
“Do not build an altar for your pain. Do not be so committed to your pain that your own healing does not stand a chance.
HEAL. But also be aware that your healing may cost you. That people are benefiting from your brokenness. Heal either way.
Because you deserve a healed version of yourself.”
After more than two decades of constant healing and effort, I’m making a quiet declaration: I’m stepping away from the altar of pain. I’m realizing I don’t have to carry it all with me. Some things are meant to be honored, then left behind. And still, I wouldn’t undo any of it. The pain burned away the noise. It brought me back to what’s real. What I want, more than anything, is peace. For myself. And for everyone I love.
And this is why energy work speaks so deeply to my soul. Because when you’ve walked through the fire, you start to recognize it in others. You understand what it means to carry things that were never yours to hold. Or at least, never yours to hold by yourself. You learn how to let go. You learn how to let others in.
Helping others heal, to soften, to feel safe in their own bodies, to remember who they were before the world told them otherwise, that’s what calls to me now. That’s the life I want to live.
And I hope you get peace too — whatever that looks like for you. You deserve that version of yourself.
