You're doing better than you know.
On invisible struggle, the pride no one else can give you, and why I wrote myself a letter and shared it here.
Fifteen years ago, at 28, I developed a framework that amongst many things taught me to become honest with myself. About what I wanted, my shortcomings, my loftiest dreams and deepest fears. Because it's an annual practice and a visual one, I was able to watch all of those parts of myself shift, morph and find completion over time. Right before new desires, chapters and challenges arose, as is the way.
My life has been the playground for learning how to be me. It still is.
Honesty helps us acknowledge what is. Not what we want it to be, hope it to be, wish it were. What is. Whatever that looks like at different chapters of life, different times of day, week, month.
When we're honest with ourselves, we can acknowledge what is, and sometimes there is a pathway to acceptance, sometimes we need the help of another, and sometimes we're simply not ready to pull certain threads. That honesty with ourselves becomes honesty with others, and that's where real connection lives.
Part of that honesty, and perhaps the hardest part, is being honest about our struggles. Not performing or minimising them, not dressing them up into something more palatable. Just acknowledging them for what they are, to ourselves first.
Because here is something I know to be true.
Most struggle is invisible. The people around us, colleagues, friends, family, are holding things we will never fully see. And we are holding things they will never fully see either. Others will credit us for our strength, our courage, our perseverance. But they won't ever know what it really took, or what it gave us, which is ok.
We are also, many of us, extraordinarily good at masking. At showing up capable and composed while quietly carrying something heavy underneath. I know this from my own fifteen years of navigating mental health challenges while climbing the corporate ladder, that I (mostly) masked well. The world saw the high-functioning version. Very few people saw the rest.
And it's one of those things that is not ok, and also ok, if that makes sense. We can't walk around baring our struggles to the world. I don't believe that's necessarily how things are meant to go. But we can, at the very least, be honest with ourselves about what we're carrying. That part for sure matters.
While I'm here, something else I feel strongly about.
Struggle is not a competition, and it is not for anyone else to determine. We have a tendency, sometimes well-meaning, sometimes not, to measure each other's difficulties against our own, to decide what qualifies and what doesn't. I find this deeply unhelpful. Mostly because I sit in the lives of fantastic humans and everyone is carrying something - trust me. Struggle is relative. It is personal. It is entirely yours. The person navigating a health scare, a complicated friendship, a career that no longer fits, random grief or frustration that has no name, all of it counts.
All of it deserves to be witnessed.
Nobody gets to tell you that what you're carrying isn't heavy enough to matter.
We have to do that witnessing for ourselves.
If we're honest about the challenges we face, and we're actively working to overcome, navigate, survive and endure them, there is a gift waiting on the other side.
A sense of genuine pride.
Not the hubris kind, but rather the kind that comes from knowing what was overcome, why it mattered, and what it means. The kind that only you can give yourself, because only you know the full cost. I tear up thinking about how important this is, and how game-changing it can be to feel proud of yourself.
In my self-reflection workshops, I ask women to write themselves a letter, naming the things they're proud of that nobody else sees, or can fully understand. Every single time, when I ask them to share even one or two, the energy in the room changes. They sink into a new depth of compassion for themselves, and they let the other women in that room share in it. Everyone feels it. Everyone appreciates it.
In my work with The Continuum Process, my creation from my 28-year-old self, one of the most common responses when clients see the contents of their head and heart laid out in front of them is, I have a lot going on, don't I? And then, I'm doing pretty well, considering. Then their attention shifts somehow, into a new territory. A compassionate place that can enable clear thinking/seeing.
All of that to say, surfacing what is going well, and what isn't, so it can be seen and acknowledged honestly, is a huge pathway to depth. To the underside of your iceberg. To real connection.
I recently came out the other side of an extremely long and arduously challenging time in relation to my immigration status in Germany. Married to a German national for two and a half years, I had been trying to have my Residence Permit updated to reflect that, enabling more flexible employment options, including self-employment. I simply needed an appointment at the Immigration Office, which are (clearly) very difficult to get. After eight months working with lawyers, that appointment finally happened last week.
A heavy cloud has lifted.
I'm acutely aware of the struggles I faced during this waiting time. Some chosen, others not. Some wanted, others not. Some visible, most not.
So I'm doing what I have done for many years, what I encourage others to do, I'm writing a letter to myself, to honour the version of Alice that navigated this season of her life as best she could. Doing this publicly is a little unnerving. But I want this documented so I can return to it when I need a reminder of this particular set of struggles.
If you're in the middle of something hard right now, something no one else can properly see, I hope this letter finds you. And I hope it gives you permission to write one of your own.
Dear Alice,
Well, here we are.
On the other side of something you genuinely thought was never coming. Something that for the last two and a half years, and acutely for the last eight months, made you wonder if every decision you've made these last eight years was perhaps flat out wrong. The intuitive nudges, calculated risks, the disruption to your income, your career, your relationships, your sense of home - that perhaps they were misguided and all for nothing.
They still might be. You suspect not, but honestly who knows.
It's interesting that one of the first things you did after the immigration appointment, was intuitively turn to a page in your journal from 2018. Written in India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, spending time along the Ganges River with some of the greatest clarity you've ever experienced. You captured so much of it in writing, but in frameworks too. Because, well, that's how you think and process complexity - in squares and boxes.
You had found love in yourself from walking the Camino, you had found true love in Ingo, and a love of life in general. The combination of these things was powerful enough to help you see that you were ready to live your life differently. Inverted. Where beforehand it had been very much from the outside-in - your career, climbing, finances, managing your mental health alongside it, caring what others thought - you wanted it to be from the inside-out. With yourself, and all you were and are, at the centre of your decisions and navigation of this great journey.
You drew a diagram in India, in 2018 that reflected HOW you wanted your inside out life to look and feel like.
It meant something to you then, it was so, so, so true to you. It became something you would look at to remind yourself of why you were making changes to your already full and wonderful life. Because it was - full and wonderful.
The inversion simply needed to happen. And you committed to that, wholeheartedly, as per.
It's as though back then, you had one taste of a version of yourself that felt the most like you, and it was so powerful that it was enough to spur you forward into so much change. You were driven from that deepest place within you. The insights from India were filled with such a purity of truth that only you can fully appreciate. To another, it's probably just words and boxes on a page. But it was the result of serious surrender and expansion at a somewhat destined time in your life.
Looking at it now, your work with The Continuum Process is there, but it isn't called out. It was still just something you did for yourself at that point. These things take time. And there are some things on that page that haven't happened - children being the main one. Some journeys simply aren't meant to be, and it would appear that motherhood is one of those for you.
Now the kicker to all of this and what it means in the landscape of your life now.
Your decision to move to Germany and build a life here was big. Bigger than you realised. Your decision to leave a genuinely toxic workplace in 2023 was also big, and the right decision - but it carried consequences. In both instances, would you have made these decision had you known what the last five years, especially the last three would hold? Probably not, I'm afraid to say.
And yet.
And YET.
Sitting here now, on the other side, you know in your heart of hearts that the inversion - from living life from the outside-in to the inside-out - would never have happened without this genuinely unfortunate immigration chapter.
Because, the inversion, the diagram from India somehow feels more real today than it did in 2018.
That feeling of exhaustion you're experiencing right now, the one that is almost knocking you over and sending you to sleep standing up - it's bigger than the immigration situation. It's the end of an extremely long chapter. A genuine life-Camino, full of ego deaths, identity collapse, shifting priorities, breakdowns and breakthroughs.
And that's what you've come out the other side of.
There is so much that I'm proud of you for.
I'm proud of you for not giving up. There is an undeniable perseverance thread throughout this - the kind that we all tap into when we truly want something that much. You see it in those who desire strongly to become parents, in those in survival mode of any description. Something else pulls you forward. Such conviction existed in your pursuit that you were recently asked by someone if it were God driving it. An interesting conversation, no doubt. But your answer was that no, it has come from the deepest place within you, and an innate knowing that part of turning yourself inside out, repeatedly, is to get to a point where you can help others do the same. A lofty statement - but a true one.
I'm proud of you for not overriding what you have known to be true, in small ways throughout this process. When it got too much, you let yourself sleep and rest instead of forcing yourself forward. You didn't judge yourself for the sleep marathons you had, and clearly needed. For skipping workouts when your system needed rest. For crying and collapsing as needed — dramatically at times, no doubt. But what needs to come through is better off allowed you've learnt.
I'm proud of you for building The Continuum Process. You literally built something out of nothing. By yourself. You have had a small, steady and aligned stream of clients and you learnt about your own creation because of them. You sat in the lives of so many - genuinely, authentically, lovingly. You were able to offer hope and help them turn the lights of their own lives back on. And in many instances, shine those lights in entirely new directions, into the crevices of ourselves that contain the most beautiful hidden things, waiting to be discovered. You sent emails, created worksheets, held workshops, made friendships and partnerships, put yourself out there when what you were doing was still unclear.
I'm proud of you for overcoming your limiting beliefs about being seen. In 2018, no one knew there was this depth within you, you always felt like you were hiding yourself somehow. You felt ashamed that your favourite way to spend time and your greatest joy and passion was exploring the inner world in different ways. You knew there was more to explore within you, and more to reveal - to yourself, and to the world. And slowly, you chipped away at that. Social media, presenting, introducing yourself, attending networking events and mumbling through who you were and what you did. Through The Rest House, your blog posts, and now Substack. You're learning what your opinions are, what your point of view is, what you believe for humanity. Corporate life has a way of stifling that. Mental health challenges leave no space for it either. It was a big mountain for you to climb.
I'm proud of you for getting your health back on track. For seeing that a good use of this waiting time could be getting strong again, and then actually doing it. And for enabling that in Ingo too. These moments in life can send us in different directions, but you pointed yourself and your husband down a healthy path, and that is so cool. Showing up at FitLab a few times a week has been an anchor. More than once it was a place to release fear and frustration. It provided friendship and gave you a small network here in Germany. A lot to be said for that decision. You walked a few Camino's during this time, and the most recent ones you could carry yourself and your backpack with a strength that was new, and appreciated.
I'm proud of you for surviving financially. It's been tight, and that has been a source of real and ongoing stress. No visits to Australia, missed global family gatherings, foregoing the ability to save and plan, to update furniture and clothing, to make spontaneous trips. You sacrificed a lot to make it work. And you've been lucky that those who love you were able to help make some trips possible. There's a lot of gratitude there for those who have shown up for you - gosh the gratitude runs deep.
I'm proud of you for letting this situation humble you. You have always prided yourself on being able to solve any problem - your career gave you that conditioning, and, well, this one was not solvable. You learnt that. You saw your own privilege clearly, probably for the first time. You experienced what it feels like to not be able to make something happen on your own timeline. Looking back, you feel the weight of all the times you basically expected things to work out, because they always had. How fortunate you have been. Now your empathy for everyone who hasn't had that luck runs deep - you see that most haven't lived their lives that way and you won't take it for granted again.
I'm proud of you for turning toward your husband, and not away from him. Moving to Germany has been about your future together, but you're here because he is here. This could have driven resentment, and at times it did. But never toward him. Only toward his country. You have the experience of real challenge now, and it has made you stronger together.
I'm proud of you for understanding that when everything gets stripped away, the dimensions of you are enough to hold you. Walking, around the streets of Stuttgart or on Camino's. Writing, in your journal, on Substack, in messages and emails that you pour yourself into. And gathering, with family, new and old friends, which has become a beacon of light you yearn for in entirely new ways. These three things don't need status, a title, wealth or bravado. They are you, and you are them. It's a level of clarity that many never find. Your struggles have enabled it, and your ability to capture and connect this into three words has given it real, meaningful weight in your life, now and forever. How wonderful is that.
The feeling you have now - of wanting to turn this page and close the chapter, perhaps the whole book - gosh, it makes so much sense.
This moment is more than the completion of an immigration nightmare. It's the conclusion of an odyssey. Of inverting your life from the outside-in to the inside-out. No one can ever take that from you, and it doesn't matter what unfolds from here. You've got this under your belt, and now it's time to move forward.
Onward.
Alice x
Honesty with ourselves is a practice, not a destination, and I think that's actually a relief when you realise it. It means we don't have to have it all figured out. We just have to keep showing up to the truth of where we are, as best we can, in each chapter.
I'll quote again my favourite quote from Dr Pippa Grange's book Fear Less (highly recommend):
"When people go through the process of facing their fears, it's hard to convey the extent of their struggle. But struggle and mess deserve as much of a place in our hearts and conversations as accomplishment and success. They are a valid, meaningful part of your life, not something to cover up."
Witnessing ourselves, really seeing what we've carried, what we've built, what we've survived, is one of the most generous things we can do for ourselves. And so often it's the thing we do last, if we do it at all.
And I'll be honest with you. I didn't realise, until I sat down to write this letter, that the chapter I was closing was so much bigger than the immigration situation that prompted it. It was only when I turned to that journal page from India in 2018 that I understood the full arc of what these years had actually been. The letter illuminated that. I couldn't have seen it any other way. That's the thing about this kind of honesty, it has a way of showing you more than you were expecting.
If anything in this letter has stirred something in you, I'd love for you to try it. Write yourself a letter. It doesn't have to be long or polished or cover everything, and it certainly doesn't have to be shared publicly the way I've shared mine. Just find a quiet moment, be honest with yourself, and surface one or two things you're genuinely proud of that nobody else has fully seen. The things that only you know the real cost of. You might be surprised what comes up, and how much it matters to finally say it, even if only to yourself.
If you'd like to share it with me, my inbox is always open and I would be genuinely honoured to read it. And if you'd rather keep it entirely to yourself, that is just as beautiful and just as valid.
Either way, I want you to know, you're doing better than you know.
Cheering for us.
Alice
