Over the past days, I’ve been seeing something more clearly about myself.

I’m so used to managing things on my own, figuring everything out alone, and being independent that I often overlook other possibilities. The ones where people step in, help, and make things easier than my mind expected.

It’s not that support isn’t there. It’s that I’m often so prepared for the harder version of the story that I forget life might have a softer one in mind.

Last weekend, my car gave me trouble, and I was recommended a mechanic about 25 minutes’ drive away, on the far edge of a town. In my mind, I immediately started preparing for the complicated scenario. I imagined leaving the car there, needing to come back the next day, and somehow having to sort out transport in a rural area.

So I spent over an hour researching bus connections, complaining to myself about the insane prices of the rural bus company, trying to find a discount, and getting frustrated with an app that kept giving me errors. I was already mentally living inside the inconvenience before anything had even happened.

What I didn’t consider was that the mechanic would be done in less than three hours and would offer me a lift to town and back.

I laughed to myself when I saw it. There it was, my blind spot. The part of me that knows how to prepare, solve, and endure, but doesn’t always remember to leave space for support.

Something similar happened with accommodation.

Because of the unexpected expense of the car repair, I started looking for ways to save money and recover from it. I felt guided to post a message in Off-Grid Portugal asking if anyone might allow me to pitch my tent in their garden and have access to a warm shower in exchange for a little help.

I wasn’t expecting much.

So when I received two comments almost immediately, and started talking to one woman right away, I was already surprised. I asked if I could come that same day, but she said it would be better for her the next day. I accepted that and started preparing myself to sleep a second night in my car.

Then, around 8:30 in the evening, after asking me a few more questions about where I would stay, she unexpectedly texted me and told me to come. “I have a bed for you,” she wrote.

I had no idea where I was going. In my imagination, I had pictured something small: maybe a simple garden, a quiet patch of land, somewhere modest to put up my tent. But when I arrived in the dark and the automatic gate opened onto a long driveway leading up to a house on top of a hill, I genuinely felt like I was dreaming. That was something I wouldn’t expect as “off-grid”. 🙂

I remember smiling to myself. Life had surprised me again.

She showed me to a guest apartment, made me feel very welcome, and left me to settle in. I slept like a baby that night. The next morning, when I finally saw where I was, I found stables, a horse outside, and a beautiful view from my window where I could watch the sunrise.

Then another message came: I could do my laundry there too.

When I asked how I could repay her, she simply said, “Some weeding.”

She was English, and there was something about her presence that stayed with me. She was generous, but clear. Open, but not without boundaries. In her own way, she was teaching me that those two things can exist together. Generosity does not have to mean overgiving, and boundaries do not have to mean closing your heart.

Another woman who was already helping there showed me what to do, and we ended up having a lovely chat while we worked. After an hour and a half, the owner called us in and brought us tosta mista, which I hadn’t had in such a long time and really enjoyed. What made it even sweeter was that we all ate together. There was no strange hierarchy in the air. No separation. I felt welcomed.

Later that afternoon, I found another quiet gift hanging on the door handle of my room: a bag with muesli bars and fruit.

I smiled again.

At one point, the woman who worked there told me she was surprised they had let me in, because they are usually very protective of their privacy. I smiled inwardly when she said that. I do believe in energy, and I believe women often have a strong intuition when it comes to sensing whether something is safe or not.

The same is true for me.

I would not accept just any invitation. I said yes because I felt safe to do so. Something in me trusted it. And clearly, something in them did too.

That mutual trust touched me. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was so simple and human. It reminded me that intuition is not only about knowing when to say no. Sometimes it is also about recognizing when it is safe to receive.

I stayed for two nights, thanked them, and left the following morning.

As I was leaving, she said to me, “Don’t sleep in the car.”

I smiled and replied, “I will try not to.”

Then she said, “We will keep in touch.”

And just like that, I was on my way to the next place life had arranged for me: a retreat space in an abandoned village near São Marcos da Serra, where we had agreed on an exchange of work for my stay.

Looking back, I can see that this whole stretch of days has been showing me something gently but clearly.

Support exists beyond the limits of what I tend to imagine for myself. Even when my mind prepares for the hardest version of reality, life can still answer with kindness. Receiving is not weakness. And intuition is not only there to warn me when something is off, but also to lead me toward what feels right.

The gifts arrived in many forms: a mechanic offering me a lift, a guest room on a hill, tosta mista shared around the same table, fruit and muesli bars hanging quietly on a door handle.

More than anything, I’ve been reminded that I do not have to carry everything alone.