I do believe that everything in life is a mirror — helping us see aspects of ourselves reflected back through the world around us.
A couple of days ago, I enjoyed a wonderful open day at a yoga studio in Loulé.
During the singing circle, we had oracle cards in front of us. The person next to me picked a card of the Knight.
I thought to myself, “Hmm, interesting. I love those times.”
I can’t explain why, but since I was a kid, I’ve always been fascinated by the medieval era.
I loved movies like First Knight, Braveheart, and Troy.
In history classes, I was hungry to know more.
And when my cousin introduced me to the computer game Age of Empires, I completely lost myself in it.
I’ve always admired the bravery, loyalty, and integrity of those knights — strong and courageous men who lived by values they were willing to fight for.
When I imagine a knight, I see a shining armor and a horse galloping freely — strength, freedom, and honor in motion.
This morning I woke up under a grey sky, sensing the rain was near.
Outside, a loose board on the neighbor’s terrace was banging against the railing in the wind.
My phone was off. The only thing I had scheduled was a date with myself.
Taking a few deep breaths, I reflected on how grateful I felt for all those magical moments of recent days — like yesterday, when my intuition led me to another women’s circle.
When I walked back to my car, I carried a peaceful smile in my heart.
I smiled at the paradox of life: seeing perfection in imperfection.
How everything, in truth, is perfect the way it is.
That insight came after a heartfelt conversation with one woman and through observing each other’s struggles — reflecting on my own journey to this moment.
As I sat in the warmth of my bed, I wondered what my past life might have been like in those medieval times.
“I must’ve had a really good time,” I thought and smiled.
Because in this lifetime, I grew up in a working-class family.
Perhaps this was life’s way of letting me experience the opposite — to know what it feels like when you’re not born with a golden spoon, when people look down on you, and when your main worry is simply whether you’ll have food or a roof over your head.
I recalled a few memories
I remember being about twelve, waking up one morning and asking my mother what was for breakfast.
“There’s nothing,” she said.
It wasn’t because she forgot groceries — it was because we had no money. Again.
Her sister lived next door, but they no longer spoke because my mother had borrowed money she couldn’t pay back.
So instead, we walked two kilometers to the city center to check if her salary had arrived.
It usually hadn’t — yet we still went, holding onto a little hope.
I remember the sadness when her account showed zero again — the shame, the anger, the helplessness.
Our last hope was to visit my grandmother. She lived another twenty minutes away and knew exactly what was happening when we showed up.
Her first question was always, “Have you eaten anything today?”
My mother would stay silent or cry, or walk away in shame.
And I would just look at my granny with quiet, pleading eyes.
She didn’t have much either — her pension was small — but she was resourceful. She always found a way to make a meal and send us home with something.
The gift of growing up during the war made her generation resilient.
Their challenges became their gold.
Good or bad, who knows…
I used to hate growing up this way.
But now I see it as the most precious gift life could have given me.
Everything I needed to live my potential was hidden inside those experiences.
There would be no light without darkness, no kind heart without knowing pain — another paradox of life.
If I had grown up in a palace, I might never have known the value of patience, resilience, or kindness of strangers.
I wouldn’t have learned to appreciate simplicity or the joy of small victories.
I know what it feels like to go to sleep hungry, to return items at the cashier because the total was more than what we had, to stay silent out of shame.
I know the pain of desiring something and being rejected, until I learned to reject myself — believing I was unworthy.
And yet… I also remember the joy of earning my first 20 euros at fifteen.
It felt like freedom — like I could finally breathe.
My first job was waiting tables at a local café.
I worked hard but had a boss who always looked for what was wrong.
I could do a thousand things perfectly, but he would only see the one dirty bin inside.
I was proud, yet never enough.
Later, I worked as a general assistant in a hotel in Scotland.
I was happy — finally making money, wearing brands, eating out without checking prices.
But it was another illusion — another ego trap.
I worked harder than ever, as if I had to earn the right to receive.
After a year, I was done. I thought, There must be more to life than this.
So I moved to Faro in August 2016.
There, I found another extreme — overgiving not for money this time, but for approval.
I was “making other people’s lives better,” but I forgot about myself.
I overdelivered for validation, hoping others would see my worth.
And when they didn’t, I felt empty.
It took years for me to see the imbalance.
I was drained, broke, and resentful when the kind words stopped coming.
My value was tied to how much I gave — and how much I received in return.
But slowly, something began to shift
My grandmother’s passing in November 2023 broke me open — it became the turning point.
That loss taught me that life changes from the inside out.
All those years, I tried to control the external world — but every challenge was guiding me back to myself.
The question changed from “How can I change them?” to “What in me needs to heal?”
Not from victimhood, but from curiosity.
The surf school I once built for others is flourishing as I’m leaving — and I found myself left with “nothing.”
But actually, I found myself.
I found my value.
It felt like breaking my family’s generational chains and claiming my freedom.
Now, I see that everything — the struggle, the pain, the overgiving — helped me collect the broken pieces of my heart and become whole again.
When we value ourselves, we attract people who meet us there.
Those who once took advantage simply fall away.
My previous bosses wouldn’t dare call me now with their offers — not because I’m angry, but because I vibrate differently.
I radiate self-love, and that melts away illusion.
Now, I “selfishly” put myself first — but not from emptiness.
I’ve learned to give from my overflow, not my depletion.
I’m learning to say no without guilt and to honor my desires the same way I used to honor everyone else’s.
All of this only becomes clear in stillness — when we cut distractions and finally hear our heart’s quiet truth beneath the mind’s noise.
As a child, asking for what I desired often led to rejection — so I stopped asking.
Isn’t it fascinating how we’d rather reject ourselves than risk rejection from another?
Growing up, I always looked at prices before choosing, which made me internalize my worth.
I sold myself cheap — felt ashamed to ask — waiting quietly for whatever life would give me.
In the last year, I treated life as a playground — to find balance.
I said yes to everyone.
Sometimes I’d spend 5.5 hours on a surf class for one person, charging a group price.
I told myself, “I love what I do; that’s enough.”
But that was still self-neglect, just beautifully disguised.
So I experimented — trying “pay what you feel” classes.
Some gave generously, others took advantage.
Then I learned to set boundaries — a sliding scale with a suggested amount.
I learned to say no — lovingly, not defensively.
Because I was finally filling those empty spaces with my own presence.
It’s been a long journey, and I thank you if you made it this far.
But really — there’s no right or wrong.
Final Thoughts
What if this life journey isn’t about how much money we make,
but about collecting the broken pieces of our heart — moment by moment — and becoming whole again?
What if success is about living with integrity, with an open heart, free to choose what feels right in each moment — adjusting when needed?
It won’t always look perfect.
We’ll make “mistakes.”
But from the soul’s perspective, everything is unfolding exactly as it should.
Just like yesterday — as I walked to my car, smiling to myself —
I could feel it again…
The perfection in imperfection.