This isn’t even my favorite part of the book (that honor goes to the prologue about Tabitha the Cheetah, I actually use it in my group coaching workshops all the time). This page, however, stopped me when I first read it. Reading it again today, it still hits just as deep.

Let’s break it down.

“Ask a woman who she is, and she’ll tell you who she loves, who she serves, and what she does.”

Think about how often we answer the question, “Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a mom.”

“I’m a wife.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“I’m a teacher.”

“I’m the oldest daughter.”

None of those things are wrong but they’re all roles and roles change.

“If a woman defines herself as a wife, what happens if her partner leaves? If she defines herself as a career woman, what happens when the company folds?”

This part made me uncomfortable because it happened to me. For years, I introduced myself through my marriage and then through my career. My job title and my role as a wife weren’t just what I did, they became who I was.

When people asked me about myself, I didn’t have to think. I had an answer ready. My identity felt solid because it was built on things that looked permanent… until they weren’t.

Then I got divorced.

I remember realizing I didn’t know how to introduce myself anymore. For years I’d been “someone’s wife.” It sounds so simple, but when a role you’ve carried every day suddenly disappears, you don’t just grieve the relationship. You grieve the version of yourself that existed inside it.

I had spent years imagining what my life would look like. When my marriage ended, I also grieved the future I thought I was going to have. I grieved the version of myself that existed inside that marriage.

Then I left corporate.

Overnight I went from introducing myself as the Head of Men’s Merchandising at TUMI to not knowing what to say when someone asked, “What do you do?”

For over 15 years, my career became proof that I was successful, capable, and worthy. I loved my work, but somewhere along the way, my title quietly became my identity. I had spent years chasing promotions, building a career, proving myself. Without that title, I genuinely wondered what value I still had.

Then I moved across the world.

Fully single.

Fully unemployed.

No title. No routine. No version of myself to hide behind. Through all of those life changes, I went through an identity crisis.

Who am I now?

Who am I without those titles?

Looking back, I wasn’t just grieving my marriage or my career. I was grieving the identities I’d attached to both.

No one teaches you that sometimes healing isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about meeting the version of yourself that existed before the world told you who you had to be. “Who we are is perpetually being taken from us…”

One of my old managers used to say, “The only constant in life is change.”

At the time, it sounded like one of those motivational quotes people throw into meetings. Now I know it’s true.

Relationships end.

Careers shift.

Children grow up.

Bodies age.

People we love die.

If our identity depends on something temporary, we’ll constantly feel like we’re losing ourselves. That’s why so many life transitions feel like identity crises.

Sometimes what we’re really mourning isn’t the thing we lost. It’s the person we believed we were because of it.

Then comes my favorite part of this page.

“What do I love? What makes me come alive?”

Notice she doesn’t ask,

“Who loves me?”

Or,

“What am I good at?”

She asks what lights you up.

For me, rebuilding didn’t happen all at once. It happened in tiny moments.

The first yoga class that made me cry.

The first time I realized helping someone regulate their nervous system meant more to me than hitting another corporate goal.

The first vulnerable post I shared online.

The first coaching session where I walked away thinking, “This is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”

I didn’t wake up one day and magically know who I was. I found pieces of myself one small moment at a time and it still happens each and every day.

And then this line…

“I am the builder, not the castle.”

I absolutely love that. We spend so much of our lives trying to protect the sandcastle we’ve built.

Our career.

Our relationship.

Our appearance.

Our achievements.

But the castle was never us.

We’re the builder.

When the tide comes, and it always does, we’re still here.

Able to build again.

Maybe differently.

Maybe stronger.

This lesson became one of the foundations of my coaching after leaving corporate.

So many women come to me saying,

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Usually they do. They’ve just spent years confusing themselves with the sandcastle.

I understand that because I’ve been there! I know what it feels like to stare at the life you spent years building and wonder who you are when it all changes.

Today, if someone asks me who I am, I still catch myself wanting to list my accomplishments first. Old habits die hard.

But I’m practicing something different.

I’m someone who keeps beginning again. I care deeply. I love learning and deep conversations.

I love creating spaces where people feel safe enough to be honest.

I believe people can rebuild their lives.

Those things have stayed true through divorce, cancer, leaving a six-figure career, moving across the world, and starting over. Those are the things the tide couldn’t wash away.

So now if you’ve made it to the end of my long story, let me ask you…

When someone asks who you are... do you answer with what you've done, or with what's left when everything you've done is taken away?

This was the blueprint we were handed. Back then, it didn’t seem extreme. It seemed aspirational.

Looking at it now, years later, it’s honestly shocking. Let’s break it down.

“Count your calories. Burn more calories than you eat.”

Not learn what nourishes your body.

Not eat enough to support your hormones.

Not build strength.

Just…eat less.

There were days in high school and college when all I’d eat was a protein bar because I knew my friends wanted to get sushi after school. I’d “save” my calories so I could go out and still feel like I was being “good.”

I wasn’t the only one.

So many of us believed that eating less meant we had more discipline. That if we could ignore our hunger, we were somehow stronger.

“Don’t eat anything larger than a fist every hour.”

Imagine how much mental energy this requires.

Every bite measured.

Every meal planned around staying as small as possible.

Food stopped being food.

It became math.

It became guilt.

“Don’t eat four hours before bed.”

While I do think giving your body a few hours between dinner and sleep can be beneficial, nutrition isn’t one-size-fits-all. Today we know it’s much more nuanced than a list of rigid rules.

These days, I follow more of an 80/20 approach. Most of the time I choose foods that make me feel energized and nourished. And sometimes, if I’m genuinely hungry or I want to share a late-night snack with my partner, I do. No guilt attached.

Sometimes the nourishment isn’t just the food, it’s the experience.

“Do jumping jacks for every 100 calories you eat.”

This one reminds me of a military captain yelling, “Drop and give me twenty!”

Think about the message behind it.

You don’t simply deserve to eat.

You have to earn it.

Movement wasn’t about joy.

Exercise became something you did to erase yourself instead of celebrating what your body was capable of.

Then there are the little things…

“Take a before photo.”

“Wear well-fitted clothes so you’re aware of your size at all times.”

“Burn 500+ calories a day.”

“Cardio 7x a week.”

Individually, some of these might not seem alarming. Together, they paint a picture of a life consumed by shrinking yourself.

Looking smaller.

Eating less.

Burning more.

Constantly monitoring your body.

Always chasing a version of yourself that was just out of reach.

This blueprint was marketed as health.

Magazines celebrated it.

Teen girls shared it with each other.

Victoria’s Secret Angels weren’t just models, they were the standard so many of us believed we had to chase.

We thought being hungry meant we were doing something right.

We thought our worth increased as the number on the scale decreased.

We thought confidence would finally arrive once we were “skinny enough.”

Looking back now, I realize my younger self was trying to fit into a culture that constantly told women they were projects to be perfected.

Now, after everything my body has carried me through, burnout, cancer, healing, moving across the world, becoming a yoga teacher, and learning how to regulate my nervous system, I see my body differently.

My body isn’t something I’m trying to shrink anymore. It’s something I care for.

I still want to feel strong.

I still appreciate feeling healthy.

I genuinely love moving my body.

But the motivation is completely different.

I’m honoring the body that’s carried me through every version of my life.

These days, I’m incorporating much more yin than yang, not just in my yoga practice, but in the way I live.

More compassion.

More trust.

Less trying to become someone else.

More appreciation for the person I already am.

Cleaning out my camera roll has become more than deleting old photos.

It’s become a reminder of who I used to be, what I believed, and how much I’ve grown.

I look at this screenshot with compassion for the teenage girl who believed this was the price of being beautiful.

She was doing the best she could with the messages she was given.

Now I know differently.

I’m curious… What messages about beauty, health, or your body did you grow up believing that you’ve since had to unlearn?

Not because she isn’t grateful.
Not because she failed.
But because somewhere along the way, she became disconnected from herself while trying to survive, succeed, achieve, perform, and hold everything together.

For years, I thought burnout was just stress.
I thought exhaustion was the price of ambition.
I thought rest had to be earned.

But eventually I realized something deeper was happening:

I had built an identity around who I thought I was supposed to be.

This piece is about burnout, identity loss, nervous system exhaustion, heartbreak, and what it means to return to yourself after years of survival mode.

For the woman quietly wondering:
“When was the last time I actually felt like myself?”

This is for you.

I thought waking up anxious at 3am was normal.
I thought eating lunch at my desk was normal.
I thought being unable to relax unless everything was done was normal.

I thought constantly pushing through exhaustion meant I was ambitious and from the outside, my life probably looked successful.

Corporate leadership.
Packed calendars.
Early workouts.
Productivity.
Achievement.
Always moving.

But underneath all of it, my nervous system was overwhelmed. I didn’t know that at the time, of course.

I just thought:
“This is adulthood.”
“This is responsibility.”
“This is what high-achieving women do.”

Until eventually my body forced me to pay attention.

This week I released a Nervous System 101 lecture because I want more women to understand something I wish I had learned years earlier:

Your body is not trying to sabotage you. It’s trying to protect you.

It took me years to learn about what my nervous system was and how to regulate it and would have helped me avoid burn out.

/ mel.hannon I’d love to hear from you!

Life’s overpour is your invitation.
Embrace the messy and let it shape a transformation in you 🤍

⚠️ Disclaimer: Always listen to your body and move in a way that feels supportive for you. If you have any injuries or medical conditions, consult a professional before beginning. You are responsible for your own experience in this practice.

For 15 years working in the fashion industry, I was taught a very specific formula: get the best price, aim for “good enough” quality if budget allows, and maximize margin. If we could produce cheaper, faster, and still make it look good on the rack, win! That was the goal. That was what got rewarded.

Production often happened in places like Pakistan, where, as a buyer, you’re rarely (if ever) invited to see the actual conditions your garments are made in. You negotiate pricing down to the lowest possible number, but no one really sits with the question: what has to be compromised to reach that price?

Lower wages. Faster output. Cheaper materials. Less oversight on safety.

At the time, it felt normal. Now, it feels impossible to ignore.

The Wake-Up Call: What Actually Touches Your Skin

This past year, living in Bali and slowing down my consumption habits, I started paying attention to something I had completely overlooked:

The materials I wear every day, for hours are in constant contact with my skin. And not just contact. Your skin is your largest organ. It absorbs. It breathes. It reacts.

So what happens when we wrap it in synthetic fabrics all day?

Synthetic vs Natural: What’s the Difference, Really?

Most mainstream activewear brands like Lululemon, Nike, and Alo Yoga, use synthetic materials like polyester, nylon, and elastane.

Why?

• They’re cheap to produce at scale

• They stretch and hold shape well

• They wick moisture (on the surface)

• They create that “snatched,” performance-driven aesthetic

And for years, I bought into the messaging:
“Cotton is bad for sweating.”
“It holds moisture.”
“It smells.”

So I avoided it.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

Synthetic Fabrics (Polyester, Nylon, Spandex)

Pros:

• Durable and long-lasting

• Stretchy and form-fitting

• Quick-drying (on the surface)

Cons:

• Made from petroleum (plastic)

• Trap heat and bacteria against the skin

• Can contribute to body odor (bacteria thrives in synthetic fibers)

• Linked to skin irritation and sensitivity for some people

• Shed microplastics into your body and the environment

Natural Fabrics (Organic Cotton, Bamboo, Linen)

Pros:

• Breathable and temperature-regulating

• Naturally absorbent (yes—this can be a good thing)

• Gentler on sensitive skin

• Fewer chemicals (when organic and properly processed)

• Biodegradable and better for the environment

Cons:

• Can feel heavier when wet

• Less “compressive” than synthetics

• Requires higher-quality sourcing to perform well

The Myth About Sweat (That I Believed for Years)

I used to think:
“Why would I wear cotton to work out? It just soaks sweat and smells.”

But the issue isn’t absorption, it’s what happens after.

Synthetic fabrics don’t actually eliminate sweat. They just move it around while trapping bacteria. That’s often what causes that lingering, hard-to-wash-out odor.

High-quality natural fabrics, especially organic cotton blends, allow your body to breathe and regulate itself more naturally. When produced well, they don’t hold onto odor the same way cheap synthetics do.

It’s not that cotton is “worse.”
It’s that we’ve been sold a version of performance that prioritizes aesthetics and profit over long-term comfort and health.

The Hidden Cost: Beyond Your Closet

This conversation isn’t just about how fabrics feel on your body.

It’s also about who is making your clothes and under what conditions.

When brands push for lower production costs, something has to give. And too often, that “something” is:

• Fair wages

• Safe working environments

• Reasonable production timelines

In my previous world, negotiating factories down on price was standard practice. But no one followed that thread all the way through.

Because if a garment is being made for incredibly cheap…
someone, somewhere, is paying the real price.

Choosing sustainable brands isn’t just about eco-consciousness—it’s about supporting:

• Ethical labor practices

• Transparency in production

• Slower, more intentional fashion cycles

What Changed for Me

Living in Bali and working as a yoga teacher, teaching many classes a week, shifted everything. I started wearing clothes made from organic, breathable fabrics. I noticed:

• My skin felt less irritated

• I didn’t feel as overheated during the day

• My clothes didn’t carry that same synthetic odor

• I felt more connected to what I was wearing

It became less about performance and more about how I actually feel in my body.

Brands I Actually Wear (and Trust)

After trying a lot, I’ve landed on two brands I genuinely love and wear on repeat. Both are locally produced in Bali, with a strong focus on sustainability, ethical production, and quality materials.

• Indigo Luna — feminine, soft, breathable pieces that feel like a second skin

• StudioK — elevated basics with a clean, minimal aesthetic and thoughtful construction

Both prioritize:

• Natural and low-impact fabrics

• Small-batch production

• Fair treatment and pay for workers

• Designs that last beyond trends

If you’re curious to try them, I have a discount code:
Mel10 (valid for worldwide shipping)

Final Thought

This isn’t about shaming synthetic fabrics or throwing out your entire wardrobe.

It’s about awareness.

Because once you understand that what you wear is in constant relationship with your body and that every purchase supports a larger system you start to choose differently.

I know I do. And it’s something I wish I had understood much sooner.

I was climbing the corporate ladder.
I had a steady income.
I was traveling the world.

The kind of life people work toward.

But inside…
I was mostly anxious.
Disconnected.
And quietly wondering, is this all life is?

I got married in my early 20s.
And by 27, I was divorced and starting over.

When it ended, I realized something I hadn’t expected:
I had no idea who I was without that relationship.

So I rebuilt. And I rebuilt my DREAM LIFE!

With the help of yoga, journaling, and an incredible group of girlfriends, I created a life I was proud of.
I was living in a beautiful apartment in New York City.
Dating. Traveling solo.
Doing everything that looked like I had figured it out.

And for a while… I believed I did. I wanted all these things. I enjoyed it.

Until I didn’t.

I started a new job.
And slowly, without realizing it, I found myself right back where I had been before.

Burnt out.
Anxious.
Disconnected.

My sleep was a mess. I’d wake up at 2am almost every night, my mind racing. Usually refreshing my work email and calendar for the day to come.
I was exhausted, but I kept pushing through my days.

Because that’s what I thought you were supposed to do.

Then in 2022, I got diagnosed with cancer. Even then… I kept going. I had surgery, took two weeks off, and went right back to work.

Looking back, that moment says everything about where I was mentally.
I didn’t know how to stop.
I didn’t know how to listen to my body.

Over the next few years, things didn’t get better.
They got heavier.

More health issues.
More burnout.
More anxiety.
And for the first time in my life, I faced depression.

Until one day, I had a thought that honestly scared me: My dream life doesn’t even feel like a dream anymore.

That was the moment everything shifted because I realized something I had never been taught before: You can have everything you thought you wanted… and still feel completely off.

And more importantly pushing harder isn’t what fixes it.

What I Didn’t Know Then

At the time, I had no understanding of my nervous system.

I was doing all the “healthy” things like working out, eating well, journaling, staying busy.

But I still felt anxious.
Still couldn’t rest.
Still felt disconnected from myself.

Because the truth is: If your nervous system doesn’t feel safe, your body will not let you slow down. No matter how much you try.

That constant overthinking.
The inability to fully relax.
The feeling of always being “on.”

It’s not a lack of discipline.
It’s not that you’re doing something wrong.

It’s your body asking for something different.

At a certain point, I knew I couldn’t keep living the way I was.

So I made a decision that felt scary at the time but was necessary. I chose to start over… again.

I stepped away from corporate life.
I spent the last year in Bali studying yoga, meditation, and nervous system regulation.
And I became a certified life coach.

Not because I had it all figured out but because I knew there had to be another way to live. And there is.

Why I’m Sharing This

Because I know how many women are living in that exact space right now.

Your life looks good.
You’re doing all the right things.
But something doesn’t feel right.

You’re tired.
Disconnected.
Running on stress more than anything else.

And you don’t need another productivity hack.

You need to feel safe in your body again.

Start Here

If this resonated with you, I created something simple to support you.

A 10-minute nervous system reset you can come back to
on the days you feel overwhelmed, anxious, or not fully yourself.

You can access it below.

Your Nervous System Reset

I pass this sign almost every day on a hilly road in Bali. It felt like confirmation, that I had figured something out. That I had chosen a better life. And in many ways, I had.

I came here after only ever spending a total of two weeks in Bali across two different trips. Two weeks of sunshine, slow mornings, ocean air, yoga classes, and prices that felt almost unbelievable compared to what I was used to in New York City.

Back then, Bali felt like freedom. No high-rise buildings. No rushing. No expensive rent. Just nature, sunsets, and this quiet sense that life could be softer, simpler… better. To be clear, I still love all of those things. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that I wasn’t experiencing Bali as it is for everyone. I was experiencing the version of it that I could afford.

The Life I Came From

I didn’t grow up wealthy. I grew up middle class in New York, living in a house with my parents, siblings, and grandparents. We shared rooms, shared bathrooms, shared space. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was full and it was stable. I never questioned whether we had enough.

As I got older, that stability turned into something else: access. I built a career in corporate. I had a well-paying job. I was spending $3,000 a month on rent. Buying designer goods. Booking trips whenever I felt like it. Ordering whatever I wanted for dinner, whenever I wanted it. Still very much middle class in New York City but looking back now, I had something I didn’t fully understand. I had the ability to choose without limitation.

When I first moved to Bali, I stepped into what a lot of people would recognize as the “Bali life.” I stayed in Uluwatu, spending most of my time in Bingin, Padang Padang, and Labuansait. The days had a rhythm: cafes, beaches, yoga, sunset drinks. I was surrounded by other expats and tourists, “bules,” as Indonesians call us. All of us participating in a version of Bali that felt easy, beautiful, and curated.

I interacted with locals, of course, but if I’m honest, it was mostly transactional. I was the customer. They were working. Friendly, warm exchanges but still within a structure that kept a certain distance. At the time, I didn’t question it because everything around me reinforced the same idea. This place is paradise and it’s better than anywhere else.

Dating a Local

I met Luis through work. He was working at a beach club and was looking for a yoga teacher, and I was trying to find opportunities. We met up, and we became friends quickly. One of the first things he told me was that I was paying way too much for rent. I remember laughing a little, because in my mind, it was still a fraction of what I used to pay in New York. But for him, it wasn’t just “a lot.” It was unimaginable.

After about a month, we started dating. I later found out that our first date was the most money he had ever spent on a meal. At the time, I thought we were ordering consciously, keeping it light, but we were still at a tourist-type place. What felt “reasonable” to me was already outside of what felt normal to him.

As we went out more, I realized I couldn’t even eat at a lot of the local spots without getting “Bali belly”. So we had to find a middle ground, hidden gems, places outside the main tourist areas that felt good for both of us. And when we did go to more touristy places, we started to notice something. He was usually the only local sitting there… surrounded by bules.

Before Luis, my understanding of life here was surface-level. I knew locals made less. I knew there was a difference. But I softened that reality by telling myself, “Things are cheaper for them too.” And yes, some things are but not in the way I had imagined.

The average monthly salary of a local in Bali is around 4 million IDR (about $235 USD). Luis once told me that there were times, even as an adult, when he could only afford to eat one meal a day. One meal. Around 15,000 IDR. Less than $1.

I remember where I was when he told me that. I remember what it felt like in my body. The sweetest man I’ve ever met… had gone hungry!?!? That alone felt impossible for me to process. He also never complained. Not once. I thought back to days he would sit with me at the beach club after I taught yoga, watching me order food while he just smiled and kept me company as I ate.

I never once in my life had to think that way. I never had to think about not having enough. And then it hit me. That this small, casual decision for me of choosing my next meal was something he had to think about in a completely different way. And it’s not rare here. That’s a hard thing to sit with.

Two Realities, Same Island

Nothing around me had changed. The cafes were still there. The sunsets were still beautiful. The lifestyle still looked the same. But I started to see the gap. The version of Bali I had been living in, the one that felt “cheap” and “easy,” was only accessible because of what I had access to before I got here. My passport. My previous salary. My ability to earn, save, and spend differently. Bali didn’t become affordable. I just arrived with a different currency.

Now, a year in, things feel different again. I’m no longer making a corporate salary. I’m building something new, teaching yoga, creating, figuring it out as I go. And the financial ease I once felt? It’s not as effortless anymore. I think more about what I spend. I question things I never used to question. There’s a different kind of awareness now, one that sits in the background of everyday decisions. And while I am still incredibly aware that I have more flexibility than many locals… For the first time, I understand, in a small way, what it feels like to not feel completely secure.

So… Is the Sign True?

I still pass that sign. And I don’t feel the same way when I read it anymore. The truth is, it is true. For some people. A bad day in Bali can be better than a good day anywhere else… if you’re living in a version of Bali that allows you not to see anything else. But if you stay long enough, if you get close enough, if you start to understand the layers beneath the beauty, it becomes more complicated than that.

I still love Bali. I love the nature, the culture, the people, the way life feels here in so many ways. But I no longer see it as an escape. I see it as a real place. It’s layered, unequal, beautiful, and confronting all at once. And maybe that’s the shift, not in how much I love it, but in how clearly I see it.

On paper, it was a medical leave. A temporary pause so I could focus on my health. But the truth is, it was the first time in years that life forced me to stop moving forward long enough to actually look at what was happening inside of me.

For a long time, I had been operating on momentum. Doing what I thought I was supposed to do. Building a life that looked successful and stable from the outside. But underneath it all, there was anxiety that never really left, a low-grade sadness I had learned to ignore, and a constant feeling that I was pushing myself through something instead of actually living it.

When everything finally slowed down, it wasn’t some dramatic moment of clarity.

It was quieter than that.

Healing, at least in my experience, didn’t look like breakthroughs or sudden realizations where everything made sense. It looked like long stretches of uncertainty. It looked like mornings where the biggest accomplishment was simply getting out of bed.

Some days I would roll out my yoga mat and move my body slowly, just trying to reconnect with it. Other days I would sit with my journal and ask questions I didn’t know how to answer yet.

-What do I actually want my life to look like now?

-What kind of work feels meaningful?

-What kind of partner do I want beside me?

-Who am I when I’m not just performing the life I thought I was supposed to have?

I read a lot during that time. Self-help books, philosophy, even romance novels that reminded me that life could still feel hopeful and soft. I signed up for courses that sparked curiosity, not because they were strategic, but because they interested me. I made lists about the future, not knowing if any of it would actually happen.

Some days I felt progress, like something inside me was quietly reorganizing itself.

Other days, I was right back in bed, feeling like I had lost momentum again.

But healing has a strange rhythm to it. It moves slowly, almost invisibly, until one day you realize something has shifted. You think to yourself “Oh, I didn’t feel sad when I woke up this morning.”

You breathe a little deeper.

You trust your instincts a little more.

You stop trying to force your life back into the shape it used to be.

And instead, you begin building something new.

Over time, I started to understand something I had never really been taught before.

We live in a culture that tells us to push through hard moments. To stay productive. To bounce back quickly. To prove our strength by how fast we recover.

But healing didn’t ask that of me.

It asked me to slow down.

To listen more carefully.

To rebuild my life from a place of honesty instead of momentum.

This year taught me something simple but profound: before you can rebuild your life, you have to learn how to rest inside it.

Not the kind of rest that’s an escape but the kind that reconnects you to yourself.

The kind where your nervous system softens, your mind quiets, and you start hearing your own truth again.

From that place, rebuilding becomes possible.

And when you rebuild from there, the life you create feels very different from the one you left behind.

Not necessarily bigger or more impressive.

But more honest.

More aligned.

More yours.

It’s an unfiltered space where I share my life: the highs, the lows, the messy, the awkward, and everything in between. I uprooted my whole world, went from New York corporate girlie with subway commutes to a barefoot yogi in Bali, all because I felt in my soul it was meant for me.

Here, I’ll share stories of starting over, but also chapters from my past: divorce, cancer, dating disasters, self-discovery, and so much more. The kind of stuff that’s raw, relatable, and usually kept private.

I don’t have it all figured out. Honestly, I’m figuring it out as I go and I want to bring you along for the ride. My hope is that by opening up my diary, you’ll feel a little less alone in your own story and maybe even laugh, cry, or get inspired to embrace your own messy magic.

Some weeks it’ll just be me, talking straight into the mic about the real shit that usually gets edited out. That’s the overshare. Other times, I’ll bring on guests, people who inspire me, challenge me, and have incredible stories to spill.

And I’d love to hear from you, too. If you’ve got questions, topics you want me to dive into, or even a reason why you should come on as a guest, reach out. This isn’t just my diary, it’s a space we get to create together.

So if you’re in your own season of starting over, or just looking for something real in a world full of highlight reels, this is for you. Subscribe to Overpour & Overshare wherever you get your podcasts, and let’s get into it.

Hey friends, it’s Mel!

I’ve decided to start a monthly newsletter since most of my friends and family live on the other side of the world. I want you to feel like you’re here with me: hearing the roosters at sunrise, breathing in the scent of incense, feeling the wind on your face as I ride on the back of a scooter, tasting freshly grilled chicken satay, and watching the most glorious sunset I’ve ever seen.

First, where in Bali am I living?

Uluwatu is at the southern tip of Bali, a laid-back, surf-loving beach town with a bohemian-meets-luxury vibe, perched on cliffs with what I think are the best sunsets and beaches on the island. The Brooklyn of Bali.

August has been a big one so far, I taught my first yoga class, moved into a new home, and said goodbye to Morgan as she wrapped up her two-week Bali adventure.

I started teaching yoga… in Bali!

Less than two months after finishing my yoga teacher training at Alchemy Yoga & Meditation Center, I somehow found myself with a teaching job at one of the top yoga spots in the world. Stepping onto the teacher’s mat for the first time here felt surreal, the energy of the students, the sound of the ocean nearby, and yes… a little nervous excitement in my belly. Since then, we have even had some monkeys join in on the class.

It’s been incredibly humbling to start something completely new. I’m nowhere near where I hope to be as a teacher yet, but my students have been responding so kindly to my classes, and I truly feel like I’m already making a real impact. Since then, most of my days have been spent honing my craft, designing new class sequences, experimenting with creative themes, and exploring ways to weave breath, movement, and mindfulness into each practice. I’ve also been seeking out other forms of yoga work here in Bali, from subbing classes to connecting with local studios, so I can expand my experience and keep learning from this incredible yoga community.

After moving between four different places since arriving in Bali, I’ve finally found my Bali “forever home” at Pondok Kembar Homestay, a cozy little haven that feels like it was waiting for me. It’s the perfect blend of NYC loft vibes and lush Bali greenery and culture. Before coming here, I had never even heard of a homestay, so for those of you who aren’t familiar: it’s a type of accommodation where you live in a local family’s home or on their property while they also live there. My Bali family here is truly wonderful, they make me feel safe, cared for, and part of their daily life. In a transient place like Bali, where friends often come and go, it’s a comfort to have this constant. My good friends Hannah and Majo have recently left Bali, and soon the Bali family’s twins will return to France for school, bittersweet reminders that life here is always moving but I now have friends all over the world.

It was such a joy to have a little taste of NYC here with me. Morgan and I explored Ubud together, she was there for my very first yoga class, helped me move into my new home, and experienced the best of Bali while also seeing what my day-to-day life here is really like. I’ve adapted to Bali life so quickly, it’s exactly what my soul had been craving, that I didn’t fully realize just how different it is from my old life in NYC until Morgan was here. Seeing my new world through her eyes made me appreciate the shift even more.

Favorite Spot This Month: Atmos Steam House & Social Club
I stumbled upon Atmos in the most Bali way possible, through a friend of a friend who insisted I “needed” a night of steam, sauna, ice baths, and soulful conversation. I went once and was hooked. Now it’s my weekly ritual.

Picture this: steam rooms with a private guide gently brushing you with fresh thyme leaves, an experience that can only be described as a spiritual awakening. Add in an amazing restaurant, a cozy evening bonfire, a relaxed daytime workspace, and a solid Spotify playlist that’s now my official pre-yoga chill mix. All of this… for just $12 USD for a full day pass.

Bali Monthly Balance Sheet: Until the scales tip hard… I’m staying here.

Pros

Cost of Living – My rent is 1/3 what I paid in NYC and comes with free breakfast (amazing), WiFi, a pool, and cleaning. I never cook because eating out is cheaper than groceries. Laundry? $3 a week. My money can go much further here and keeps me afloat while I find more work! (+3 points)

Coconuts > Vita Coco – And yes, they’re cheaper and actually taste like sunshine. (+2 points)

Perfect Weather – 80 degrees every day, no 90+ degree meltdowns. (+2 points)

Social Without the Spirits – Plenty of activities and events that don’t revolve around alcohol. Wellness is a huge part of daily life. (+2 points)

Nature’s Backdrop – Rice fields, jungle, and ocean views in a single scooter ride. The best sunsets in the world that I will never take for granted. (+1 point)

Cons

Wildlife Adventures – Mosquitoes (I am one shot into the Dengue vax process), gecko poop identification skills unlocked (my house pet I clean up after), insanely large cockroach and the occasional poisonous toad in my bathroom. (-2 points)

Water Drama – Must brush teeth with purified water and use a hair filter. My hair is falling out (US soft water and mineral differences), so now I’m a supplement + hair oil aficionado. We pray it works and my body adjusts. (-3 points)

Far, Far Away – Time zones make family/friend calls tricky and flights home are long. Everyone download WhatsApp and send me a voice memo, please! (-2 points)

This Month’s Tally:
Pros = +10
Cons = -7

Net Score: +3

The scales tip to the pros so for now, I’m staying right here in the land of coconuts, sunsets, and questionable bathroom guests.

Until next month, find magic in your everyday life… xx Mel

Two weeks ago, I shared that I made the decision to step away from my corporate career.

So… where am I going? What am I doing? And how am I making money?

Let’s rewind... Back in late 2023 and into 2024, I had no idea that signing up for a yoga teacher training or enrolling in a life coaching course would lead me anywhere new. I wasn’t trying to reinvent my career, I just wanted to reconnect with myself and explore my passions as a hobby.

In New York, I hosted a few wellness workshops, a little side gig, I thought. But the feeling I got from them was like Christmas morning as a kid—pure joy, purpose, and aliveness. It was the opposite of the Sunday scaries, and it confirmed something important: I wanted to wake up every morning with that energy.

In 2024, I was lucky enough to visit Bali twice. Both trips were short, but the island’s energy stayed with me long after I left. One year ago, as I watched my final sunset in Uluwatu before flying back to NYC, I made a quiet wish: One day, I’ll live here. I’ll teach yoga. I’ll host retreats. At the time, it felt like a wild dream, something my heart wanted but my mind couldn’t yet imagine as ever being realistic.

Around the same time, my physical and mental health began to decline, and by early 2025, I was at an all-time low. So, I followed my heart and focused on what I thought might make me better. Step by step, without realizing it, I was building a new path.

Today, I live in Bali. As an avid traveler who usually loves discovering new places, it’s rare for me to feel like I want to settle somewhere. But right now, this feels like exactly where I’m meant to be. In a sea of yoga teachers, I’m finding my voice as one of them. I’m also coaching others, especially those navigating heartbreak, dating, divorce, and major life transitions. I’m helping them move through change with clarity, self-compassion, and an action plan.

I’ve swapped skyscraper views and fast fashion deadlines for ocean breezes, warungs with spotty Wi-Fi, and slow, intentional mornings. I’ve traded a big salary for a life that, for now, doesn’t make much money but fills me with such purpose and motivation. I still hustle, I am a New Yorker, after all, but now it’s in a more intentional way and entirely on my own terms.

Is it always easy? Definitely not. It’s humbling to go from being confident in your field to starting from scratch. As a recovering perfectionist, I remind myself daily: failure isn’t the opposite of success, it’s part of it. Every stumble is proof I’m outside my comfort zone, trying, learning and that’s exactly where transformation begins.

I developed and led multimillion-dollar businesses, managed P&Ls, and built product strategies from the ground up. I cultivated a deep expertise in big & tall menswear and men’s accessories, a niche I not only understand but genuinely love.

At 22, I made an aggressive plan for success, and I was on that track. But over the last five years, something started to shift. The version of success I once chased no longer aligned with who I was becoming. Life changed in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then, heartbreak and unexpected health challenges cracked me open in ways I didn’t anticipate. Slowly, I began to hear the quiet nudges from within. But it wasn’t until my soul started screaming that I finally listened.

So, I’ve made a voluntary life decision, maybe even a little “crazy” by some standards. I chose to turn my life upside down, to step away from the stable career I spent over a decade building and leap into something far less linear.

There’s no five-year plan, not even a one-year plan. Hell, I don’t know where I’ll be six months from now and that no longer scares me. I don’t feel the need to have it all mapped out because are those plans ever really real anyway?

What I do have is a list of dreams that’s been collecting dust. And now, I’m brushing it off and checking them off, one by one. I have a deep trust in where they’re taking me and ironically, in the middle of all this unknown, I feel more aligned than ever.

It started with being both married and divorced in my twenties. I had followed the “American dream”: long‑time sweetheart, engagement, moving in together, wedding, dog… all of it.

And then, after that eight‑year relationship ended, I had to learn how to put myself first for the first time in a long while. I felt a new excitement about building a solo future, even though I had no idea what that future would look like.

Then came navigating single life which I hadn’t done since high school. I really did live my own Carrie Bradshaw chapter in NYC: creating my ultimate bachelorette pad, swiping on dating apps, navigating hookups and unfortunately, lots of bare‑minimum men.

But also building the best support system I’ve ever known. A circle of girlfriends who still feel like family to this day.

I went from being an introvert to an extroverted introvert, because putting myself out there, going on dates, and stepping into the unknown forced me to stretch past every comfort zone I had.

All of this was happening as the world was shutting down in a pandemic which meant I also had to face the question: Who am I, really, when it’s just me? Cue the self‑help books and memoir readings.

That led me to leave a ten‑year job that had become so much of my identity and face what it really meant to start over professionally. And just when I’d finally settled into a new role, I got an out‑of‑the‑blue cancer diagnosis that made me rethink everything.

Cliché, I know … but it’s true.

It allowed me to question what was beyond going into the office every day and living for one week of vacation every six months. There had to be more to life for me than this.

It made me start to rewire my brain around what success and living actually mean to me.

And while it took me two years to find my new path after cancer, and it certainly came with its own mental health challenges, I’m happy to say I’m no longer living by guidelines and a plan.

I’ve already rebuilt my life more than once, sometimes because life left me no choice, but most recently because I willingly chose to back myself and take the leap... and that is a story for another day.

So while these were some of the most painful and challenging chapters of my life, I’m so glad they happened. Because they led me to where I am now and there’s an exciting unwritten chapter ahead.

And this space, Overpour & Overshare, is where I’ll keep telling the messy, beautiful truth of it all.

If this resonates with you, I’d love for you to subscribe, share it with someone who might need to hear it, and join me as we keep unraveling the real stories beyond the highlight reel.

Life is about balance, but not the kind we’re usually taught.

Think of it like this: sometimes you pour a generous glass of wine, and your friend laughs and says, “Wow, that’s a heavy pour.” But when you pour an “acceptable” amount, you almost always go back for a second… and let’s be honest, if it’s a bottle of red, it will be finished by the end of the night.

It’s the overpour that stands out. It’s unexpected, outside the cookie-cutter life we all know and mostly follow and that’s exactly why it makes us pause.

From a young age, we’re shown what’s right and wrong, good versus bad.
We’re taught to keep it all together, not to cry in public, not to share too much.

But what if we allowed ourselves to embrace the overpour in our own lives?
What if we let go of the pressure to have it all figured out, and shared openly, even when it feels like “too much”?

Sometimes, the overshare becomes a release. A way to lighten the load we carry. It can also build a bridge for someone else to say, “Wow, I’m not alone.”

And that… I believe… is where the magic really happens.

I’m someone who’d rather skip the small talk at a party and dive straight into the real stuff: who you really are… beyond the job title, the curated feed, or the roles of mother, partner, daughter.

When there’s nothing left to prove and no one left to impress, who are you then?

What are the moments that cracked you open, partly broke you, and ultimately shaped who you are today? And when it all falls apart, what keeps you going?

So, good luck to you if we end up talking over a martini because that’s exactly where the conversation will go.

But I didn’t always see life this way. There’s a reason I do now: what I’ve been through, and what I learned by making it to the other side and really looking back.

What made the journey even harder was having to do it alone. Feeling like no one else had been through the same things because so many of us only share our highlight reel.

That’s why I created Overpour & Overshare: a place to share the raw, messy moments that cracked me open and made me ask the questions you can’t answer in a neat, polished way. A place to build community and help even one person feel less alone - because sometimes when the unfiltered, imperfect parts spill out, that’s exactly where real connection begins.

In this space, you’ll find reflections on heartbreak, healing, starting over, and the parts of life we don’t talk about enough. Stories from my own life and from others who’ve had to pick themselves back up and keep going. The moments that change us, break us open, and somehow bring us closer to who we really are.

I’m so glad you’re here.