It’s Okay to Not Be Okay Today
Some Days Hold Echoes Not Answers
Some days don’t bring answers—only echoes. And healing begins when we sit with them.
A few weeks ago, I slipped on a cherished pair of vintage sandals and realized: it was time to have them restored. Soft, familiar and still very beautiful, they were also scuffed and a few of the straps were threatening to break. A few days later as I placed them on the cobbler’s counter, a wave of emotion hit me and my eyes welled. You see, these weren’t ordinary shoes. These sandals carried me through one of the hardest days of my life. Choosing to restore these shoes was the signal my heart needed to heal some more.
No matter where you are in your healing, it’s okay to be where you actually are.
In fact, allowing ourselves to be where we are—and not forcing our way past difficult emotions—is essential to true healing. When we push ourselves to “move on” too soon or try to “let go” before we’re ready, we actually send the message to our nervous systems that it’s not safe to feel. And that only deepens the wound.
The truth is: it’s okay today to not be okay.
Even with all the healing I’ve done—the decades of energy work, EFT tapping, emotional releases, and rewiring—I still have moments where an old piece rises to the surface. Not as a dramatic crash, but as a whisper: This still lives here.
When that happens now, I don’t panic. I listen. I hold it gently. Because it’s simply the next thing that’s ready to heal.
Today, 24 years later, I feel good.
There’s always an echo of sadness and pain on this day. But I feel solid. Grateful. My memories of that day are first and foremost the love and caring we all gave each other. My life now is filled with so much joy, so much beauty. Love surrounds me and I feel it, fully. A life co-created with Spirit, with intention, and yes, with pain that has been transmuted into power. This is all the result of my healing work.
But twenty-four years ago today, along with so many of us, my heart, my soul, my everything was shattered.
As I made my way to the Hoboken PATH train, I did what I often did on mornings like that—especially when the sky was so clear, the light so golden—I paused to gaze, joy-filled, at my beloved city. You see, I wasn’t just born there. I had made it there. My fashion career was a source of pride and excitement. That morning, I felt vibrant. Stylish. So alive.
Witness to Unthinkable Loss
Just as I was admiring the sun glinting off the Twin Towers, I felt the life drain out of me. In complete, astonished horror, I watched a plane collide into the North Tower.
In shock and confusion, I made it into Manhattan. As soon as we exited the PATH station, no matter which direction we had to go, everyone faced south witnessing the cloud of grey smoke billowing toward us. Shaking, tears sliding down my face I made it to my office in a daze.
Without the ability to call out, to tell my family where I was and what was happening I felt trapped, overcome by wondering what was going on “out there.” I just had to look. Maybe it was intuition or just bad timing but as I opened the window of my sixteenth floor office to lean out I witnessed the second plane destroy the second tower.
It would take the rest of the day to get home. We walked miles in the now blistering sun. People covered in ash, in an endless, snaking lines. When we finally got off the ferry at the Hoboken terminal, we were ushered through a makeshift firehose shower because officials didn’t know what toxic materials we were covered with. They gave us plastic bags for our phones, everything else was drenched. My gorgeous designer outfit, my stunning woven leather handbag, my fabulous sandals all soaked through and through.
These material items weren’t really important. In fact, I wasn’t focused on my outfit or my purse at all. My heart was squarely centered on all the people, all the lovely people – my family, my friends, colleagues and strangers. My outfit, shoes and bag were symbols of my hard work and achievement. And along with so many lives, along with our naivety, along with our sense of security and safety, they were destroyed.
Even in the Darkness, Love Appeared
Even in the midst of all that pain on that awful, terrible day when I lost friends and feared the worse for family (who thankfully made it out alive), I was absolutely aware there were incredible moments of beauty and love too. My loved ones and friends worked very hard to get to me and did in creative ways. Whether through instant message or email, the word got out that I was in Manhattan but okay. People offered a hand or a bottle of water. As I exited that shower in Hoboken a dear friend grabbed me up in the biggest bear hug.
I Chose to Heal Forward
Over the years that followed, I worked diligently to release every layer of pain I could from that day—the terror, the helplessness, the sorrow over so much loss. My energy work didn’t just help me release what hurt; even more importantly, it helped me cultivate more love, more purpose, and more success.
Twenty-four years ago, on that unimaginable day, I was single, scared, and profoundly heartbroken. But I took those feelings as sacred insight—a message from my soul calling me to invite something new. I began to consciously call in the love I longed for: a kind, romantic, steady partner to walk beside me through whatever life would bring.
Energy work didn’t just help me survive—it was my way back to love.
Love, Life, and the Power of Energy Work
Today, I’m happily married to that partner—my wonderful husband—and surrounded by beautiful friendships, beloved pets, and a thriving private practice that allows me to help people around the world heal, grow, and come home to themselves.
Time to Heal Some More
As I handed my sandals to the cobbler, expecting a simple repair, I felt my throat tighten and my eyes well. I found myself unexpectedly tearing up as I told him the story:
These are very special shoes. These sandals carried me to safety on 9/11.
That awful, awful day. They were on my feet as I moved through the dust and fear, trying to find my way home. They became my armor, my guides, my witnesses.
All these years later, they carried me into a moment of healing I didn’t even know I still needed.
And this kind man—a stranger only moments before—held my hand as I spoke. He promised me he would restore them with care, that he would honor their meaning.
I walked out and sat in my car, stunned by what had surfaced. Tears came again, and I turned to my tools. I tapped. I breathed. I held space for what rose up. I didn’t rush it. I let it move through.
Healing doesn’t follow a timeline. It’s not logical, linear, or something we can strategize into submission. It moves when it’s ready. It speaks when there is space.
And that’s why not being okay isn’t a sign you’ve failed—it’s a sign that your system is ready to bring something forward, something you can now hold.
There was nothing dramatic about the moment in the cobbler’s shop. No breakdown. No panic. Just quiet tears, a kind stranger, and a familiar ache I thought had long been resolved.
That is healing, too.
Not because the pain went away, but because I was able to feel it without fear.
Even after all the work I’ve done—EFT Tapping, breathwork, energetic clearing, decades of tools and practices—I still have tender places. And I’ve learned that tender doesn’t mean unhealed. Tender means true.
We are layered beings. Our stories live not just in our minds, but in our muscles, our breath, our feet. Sometimes what wants to be healed won’t show up until we have the stability, the strength, or the stillness to finally let it rise.
A few days later, I picked up the shoes.
They were stunning. Reborn.
Not a flashy kind of new, but quietly radiant—a reflection of the love that had been poured into their restoration. I turned them over in my hands and noticed a few faint scuff marks, mostly hidden by polish. Marks only I would see.
Maybe they were made on that terrible day. But now, they are whole. And so am I.
Over the years, I’ve had many of these moments. Unexpected grief. Waves of anger. Deep fatigue. Sudden sadness I couldn’t quite name. And always, I honored it. I met it. I used the tools I teach and live by—EFT Tapping, energetic grounding, essential oils, movement, breath. I never pushed it away. I let my system reveal to me what I was ready to heal.
And every time, I healed a little more.
Grief isn’t linear. Healing isn’t a checklist. And sacred anniversaries have a way of stirring what still lives in the unseen.
So if today you feel heavy, confused, or tender—let that be okay.
If today you feel sadness, old fear, or unexplainable emotion, let that be okay.
If your body remembers something your mind or heart has filed away, let that be okay.
If you’re mostly fine, but a quiet cry still surprises you—let that be okay.
If you feel gratitude and sadness in the same breath—let that be okay.
If you feel nothing at all—that’s okay too.
You are not going backward. You are not broken. You are not weak.
You are healing.
If You’re Not Okay Today
Maybe you’d like to try just a bit of EFT on this subject? If so, here’s a sample script you can try. Just use my EFT Tutorial to remind yourself of the tapping points, and say these words – or whatever words feel good to you:
EFT TAPPING SCRIPT
Setup Statement ( tap or hold your Karate Chop Point):
Even though I’m not okay right now…I wish I felt better…but this is the way I feel right now…
Reminder Phrase: This Feeling (Use this same phrase as you tap through all points)
When we stop pushing against what we feel, when we stop demanding that our healing “look a certain way,” we give ourselves something priceless: the ability to actually heal.
Because some days don’t come with answers—only echoes.
And that, too, is sacred.
Not being okay doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means something inside you is ready to rise and be healed.
No matter where you are in your healing journey—just beginning or decades in—it’s okay to be exactly where you are.
There is nothing wrong with feeling sad, off, numb, angry, or tender. These aren’t setbacks. They are sacred invitations.
Let today be what it is. Let you be as you are. Let your tenderness be part of your wholeness.
With love,
