Living with My Ex While Building My Dream
Learning to Rebuild, Regulate, and Rise—Even in the Most Uncomfortable Places
There’s something surreal about trying to heal in a place where the air still holds the echo of past conversations—some tender, some tense. Where the energy hasn’t quite cleared, and every hallway can feel like a memory.
Right now, I’m living with my ex. Not because I wanted to rewind anything, but because rebuilding my life after a string of losses meant making a few uncomfortable, strategic choices. One of them was staying somewhere affordable while I focus on launching my mobile massage business.
It’s not the kind of setup most people would recommend. Some days I feel clear and focused; other days, the emotional undertow hits out of nowhere. But I’ve learned something: I don’t need ideal conditions to build something meaningful. I’m moving forward in the middle of a space that once held a version of me I’ve outgrown—and that’s exactly the point.
This isn’t about rehashing old wounds or romanticizing resilience. It’s about real growth in imperfect places. About how massage, mindfulness, and messy decisions have helped me stay grounded. And maybe most of all—it’s about becoming the version of myself who doesn’t wait for the stars to align before stepping into something new.
When the Past Lives in the Next Room
There’s a strange intimacy in sharing space with someone you’ve already said goodbye to. It’s not graceful. It’s awkward. The kitchen feels like emotional limbo. A casual glance or too-long silence can pull up something I thought I already laid to rest.
It’s not nostalgia—it’s nervous system memory. And the pull can be loud or quietly persistent, whispering, “You haven’t really moved on.”
But I’ve come to see healing as something deeper than physical distance. It’s about energetic sovereignty—recognizing a trigger, pausing, breathing, and reminding myself that I’m not her anymore. Even if the house remembers.
I didn’t stay out of romance. I stayed out of strategy.
After everything I’d lost—career, home, health—I chose the option that allowed me to rebuild slowly, without the financial panic. To some, it might look like being stuck. But for me, it was a conscious act of self-trust.
I wasn’t choosing comfort. I was choosing discomfort with a plan. The kind of discomfort that quietly teaches you what you're made of.
That shift—from “this is a setback” to “this is a launchpad”—laid the foundation for everything I’m building now.
“Sometimes healing isn’t a breakthrough. It’s the moment your feet remember the ground.”
The Unexpected Strength in Stillness
Living with someone who knew your every flaw can stir up old patterns quickly. I realized early that I couldn’t control the emotional climate—but I could regulate myself.
Mindfulness became my anchor. A breath before speaking. A moment of grounding on cold tile. A reminder: I’m not here to reenact the past—I’m here to build a future.
Massage work unexpectedly became a form of meditation. It demanded presence. You can’t ruminate while tracing the fascia of someone’s shoulder blade. Your breath slows. Your thoughts quiet. Your nervous system syncs with the calm you’re offering.
That reciprocity—the calm that moves through me as I offer it to others—became its own healing. A moment of regulation inside the chaos.
And there’s science behind it too. Massage therapy:
Lowers cortisol (stress hormone)
Boosts serotonin and dopamine (mood regulators)
Activates the parasympathetic nervous system (“rest and digest”)
When your body feels safe, your mind gets the message. I couldn’t always think my way out of a spiral. But I could breathe through it—skin to skin, breath to breath, session to session.
Massage became my anchor. A return—not a distraction—to calm, clarity, and self.
The modalities I use in my massage work supports nervous system healing, if you’re curious about them I encourage you to explore more on my Services page.
Boundaries That Don’t Look Like Walls
Living with my ex while trying to build something new required a boundary style I’d never practiced before. One that wasn’t loud or dramatic, but steady. It didn’t say “I’m angry.” It said, “I’m choosing me.”
I couldn’t set physical space boundaries that guaranteed peace, so I leaned into energetic ones. No overexplaining. No emotional caretaking. Just intentional detachment, not fueled by resentment—just clarity.
It didn’t feel powerful at first. It felt cold. But I began to realize that the strongest boundaries are often the quietest. The kind that look like choosing stillness over reaction.
There was guilt. Especially when I didn’t jump in to fix things, soothe, or over-function. The guilt of no longer playing “the good ex.” But I had to let those roles go to preserve the energy I needed for this new version of life I was building—one massage session, one blog post, one boundary at a time.
Ironically, massage became the place where I practiced boundaries most consistently. Before every session, I’d ground myself and repeat: I’m here to hold space, not absorb it.
That intention carried over. I could offer presence without merging. Compassion without depletion. And I realized that’s what boundaries really are—not walls, but filters. They don’t keep people out. They keep you in.
Trusting the Timeline (and Yourself)
I used to treat healing like a race. If I could just process fast enough, I thought I’d arrive at some calm, finished place.
But healing doesn’t respond to urgency. Massage taught me that. You don’t force a muscle to release—you invite it. You create the right conditions and wait.
That’s what I started doing with myself. Meeting myself where I was, not shaming myself for where I wasn’t.
I’m still not “ready” in the traditional sense. I don’t have a Pinterest-worthy routine or financial perfection. I’m still living with my ex. But I’m building anyway.
The proof is in the quiet wins:
A client saying they finally slept through the night
Holding a boundary I once would’ve bulldozed
Letting myself rest without earning it
Not glamorous. But mine. And a reminder that I don’t have to wait to be fully “healed” to show up and offer something real.
“This isn’t just touch. It’s a conversation between the body and the nervous system—one that doesn’t need words to be heard.”
Massage as a Bridge: Body, Mind, and Future
Clients often come in thinking they just need their back worked on. But more often, what they really need is a place to land—a space where their body can remember what safety feels like.
That’s what I aim to offer: a bridge between the body and mind. A space for nervous system repair, where presence replaces panic and breath replaces defense.
That ability didn’t come from a textbook. It came from living through dysregulation and clawing my way back to stability, one breath at a time.
I used to think I had to be healed before I could offer anything of value. But what I’ve learned is that people don’t come to me because I’ve “arrived.” They come because I’m still walking it, too.
This work isn’t built from perfection. It’s built from the sacred mess in the middle.
If you want to know more about my background, values, and why I started this work, feel free to visit the About page. It’s a glimpse into the real story behind what I do.
You Don’t Have to Wait
There’s a myth that healing must happen in secret. That your business, your life, your self must be polished before it’s seen.
But here’s what I know:
You can build your dream in chaos.
You can heal while still hurting.
You can live in the same space as your past and still move forward.
I’m doing it. Not because I have it all figured out—but because I stopped pretending I needed to.
If you’re navigating your own version of discomfort—whether it’s emotional, physical, or situational—massage might be the grounding practice you didn’t know you needed. It’s not about escape. It’s about coming home to your body, one breath at a time.
If that speaks to you, I invite you to book a session. At the time of this writing, I’m currently living in Phoenix but plan to expand to Santa Fe, New Mexico in fall. I’m currently accepting limited appointments.
You can also check out the FAQs if you’re wondering what to expect or whether bodywork is the right fit for you right now.
You’re welcome here—exactly as you are.
