When Joy, Overwhelm, and Old Stories Collide: What San Diego Reminded Me About Listening to My Body

Last week was… a lot. Beautiful, expansive, inspiring — and also a full-body reminder that growth doesn’t happen in tidy little segments. It happens in the messy overlap of joy, overwhelm, exhaustion, and the whispers of old stories we thought we’d already released.

Recently, I spent a few days in San Diego for an amazing conference/event hosted by Samantha Skelly, and it took a few days to process everything my mind and body took in.

Reconnecting, Expanding, and Being Fully Human

One of the highlights of the trip was finally meeting women I’ve been growing alongside in a somatic program. Seeing them in person felt both grounding and electric. it was genuinely special to see them in person. I also met new, incredible women—some helping make the world better through taxes (yes, surprisingly inspiring), some creating heart-centered events, all of them kind, curious, and doing meaningful work.

And the speakers? Wildly successful, generous, brilliant women. Truly energizing.

Meanwhile, my website was being redesigned, so I was juggling questions and approvals between sessions.

Through it all, my spouse was deeply supportive — driving us to Carlsbad, taking me to the train each morning, picking me up each night, and ending the trip with the best donuts on Saturday. He was wonderful.

And still… it was a lot for my system.

Capacity Has Limits, Even When Life Is Good

Some context: I get motion sick very easily, so long car rides are not my favorite. I’d never taken the Coaster train before, so figuring that out was a new layer of cognitive load. And as an introvert, spending an entire day in a large group — talking, listening, connecting — doesn’t come naturally.

A friend later shared the following sentiment with me: “I’m full.”
And so was I. My system was at capacity.

The event ran from 8:30 to 6, and because of the train schedule, I had to wake up around 5 a.m. By 3 p.m., my body was whispering (let’s be honest: yelling), enough. But I pushed through — because I’d traveled this far, invested this time, and wanted to make the most of it.

I ended up missing the 6 p.m. train, getting home at 9, and feeling horribly nauseous. I showered, read one important email, and went straight to bed.

In hindsight? I should have listened to my body.

Course-Correcting in Real Time

The next day, I did things differently.

I took a later train, even if it meant missing out on the connection time in the morning.
I left when my mind and body said, full.
I let myself process the information instead of absorbing more.

And beneath the logistics and overwhelm, something deeper was stirring.

San Diego & Old Memories

I lived in San Diego as a child, and some of my earliest painful memories happened there. Being back — older, safer, living a life far more beautiful than anything young-me could have imagined — brought up unexpected emotion.

Joy can feel vulnerable.
Gratitude can rub up against old wounds.
Expansion can bring up stories we thought we’d outgrown.

For me, those stories sounded like:

“Maybe all of this is just luck.”
“Do I really deserve this life? This caring spouse. This abundance?”

Hearing powerful women share their success made those questions even louder. I realized that although I’ve done so much healing, I’m still learning to embody worthiness. To fully let in goodness without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then there was the old belief I bump into from time to time:

“You should be able to power through.”

“You should be more productive.”

“You need to work harder.”

Those patterns still live in my body. And in a week filled with travel, emotions, new environments, and long days — it’s no wonder my system tapped out.

Listening to My Body (Even When It’s Inconvenient)

So what does all of this mean?

It means I’m still learning.
Still growing.
Still practicing what I preach.

Even with years of personal work behind me, there are layers I’m still meeting.

The real invitation now is compassion.

How do I balance work and care?
How do I honor the part of me that wants to create, connect, expand — and the part that says, “slow down, I need rest”?
How do I let these parts collaborate instead of battle?

I don’t get it right every time. I’m human.
I override my body sometimes. Old beliefs still knock on the door.
But I’m learning to let all of it be okay.

To breathe through it.
To let every part have space without judgment.
To grow without pushing.
To rest without guilt.

That’s the practice.
And last week was a reminder that I’m right in the middle of it — awake, aware, and learning as I go.