We’ve all heard about being “present” and “mindful.” These terms get thrown around so often that they start to feel like lofty ideals—future goals to achieve once we’ve got everything together. At least, that’s how I used to think of them. To me, they were concepts that would magically materialize when I was balanced, centered, and living my dream life. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?
But perfection is an illusion, and I had bought into it. I believed mindfulness and presence would come later, once I was in a more “healed” place. So, I didn’t even try to implement them into my life as it was.
Then came my “Spiritual Awakening,” a term I also wasn’t striving for because, let’s be honest, it sounded like Nirvana—a state of blissful enlightenment I wasn’t anywhere near achieving. I imagined it as the moment I’d be completely transformed: serene, wealthy, slim, sitting on a sandy beach meditating under a glowing sunset. Sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?
Well, here’s the reality: A spiritual awakening isn’t dreamy at all. It’s messy. It’s like being jolted awake with water thrown on your face or, better yet, being plunged into an ice bath. Suddenly, you’re Neo from The Matrix, waking up to the cold, stark reality of truth. The comforting illusions are gone, and everything that once seemed familiar looks foreign.
You’re awake now, for better or worse. It’s both a blessing and a curse because ignorance really is bliss. Once you’ve seen the truth, you can’t unsee it.
Awareness doesn’t immediately lead to mindfulness or presence. Initially, I avoided my truths and lived in my head—a coping mechanism to escape the discomfort of reality. It took time to learn how to be in my body, how to stay grounded instead of fleeing to my mental “safe zone.”
Progress wasn’t linear, though. Even as I developed tools like meditation, spiritual study, and healthier habits, unresolved traumas often pulled me back into less mindful and less present states—unknowingly. These setbacks were frustrating and sometimes heartbreaking because I thought I had made progress, only to find myself unaware of the passing of time once again.
That’s the hard truth about mindfulness: it’s not a one-time achievement but a constant practice. It takes courage to acknowledge the moments you falter and even more strength to recommit to being present.
Over time, I developed tools to help me navigate this new reality: meditation, spiritual study, prayer, and healthy habits like walking and better eating. Slowly, I replaced old vices with practices that strengthened me. Mindfulness emerged, little by little, as I learned to calm down and stay present through life’s storms.
Lessons from the NICU and Beyond: The Power of Presence
The most profound lessons in mindfulness came from the moments I fought hardest for my son, Cairo. His birth brought challenges that forced me to be fully present, even when every instinct urged me to run or crumble under the weight of uncertainty.
Cairo was born with feeding issues. His low muscle tone, or hypotonia—a common diagnosis associated with Down Syndrome—made it nearly impossible for him to retrieve milk. The hospital staff informed me that children with Down Syndrome “cannot breastfeed,” advising me to train him to a bottle or prepare for a permanent feeding tube.
The odds they presented were bleak, but one nurse—a believer in homeopathic approaches—encouraged me to keep trying. Her faith lit a fire in me. For the first time in my life, I fully stood in my power. I confronted the hospital director about the staff’s negativity and requested a team limited to nurses who believed in us. With their support, I created a plan:
For 30 days, I breastfed Cairo for 30 minutes every three hours while doing skin-to-skin contact to conserve his energy. To ensure he received the nourishment he needed, we used a temporary feeding tube to deliver the remaining milk directly to his stomach. After each feeding, I pumped three times the amount he consumed to maintain my milk supply and provide him the strongest flow during our sessions. I also introduced bottle feeding two to three times a week as an alternate method.
It was grueling—feeding or pumping every hour and a half for 30 days. But I was fully present in every moment, driven by pure will and love for my son. The impossible became possible. Cairo learned to feed, and I discovered my inner strength.
Years later, another test of presence came when Cairo underwent a tonsil and adenoid surgery at age three. Due to complications from improper nurse handling, his recovery turned into a month-long nightmare. He was in excruciating pain, refused to eat or drink, and had to rely on intravenous fluids. When nurses forcibly administered pain medication orally instead of rectally, it caused him to choke and reopen his wounds, leading to further surgeries.
I feared for his life as he lost significant weight, and the threat of a permanent feeding tube loomed once again. Overwhelmed but determined, I refused to let the worst-case scenario consume me. Instead, I created a mantra to alchemize my fear into focus and strength: “We are healing. We are thriving. We are overcoming.”
This was the moment I learned the transformative power of affirmations and scripting. By focusing my energy on what I wanted to manifest instead of what I feared, I found clarity in the chaos. Cairo recovered, and I emerged from this experience with a new way to face challenges: head-on, with unwavering determination and presence.
These moments taught me that when faced with the unimaginable, we have the power to rise. In the fog of uncertainty, I learned resilience, strength, and the will to transform outcomes. I found a new way to live when faced with death.
Facing the Fog
Mindfulness isn’t about avoiding the fog; it’s about stepping into it with your eyes wide open and your tools in hand. The Hermetic principle of Polarity taught me that every problem contains its solution. When we turn away from the problem, we also turn away from the opportunity to grow and find clarity.
It’s in those moments of discomfort—whether it’s fighting for Cairo in the NICU or finding the strength to rewrite my fears during his recovery—that the fog begins to lift. By staying present and observing each challenge, frame by frame, I uncovered the answers I needed to navigate forward.
The Gift of the Fog
The fog isn’t here to hinder us; it’s here to teach us. It holds the power to shape us, transforming fear into strength and uncertainty into purpose. When we stop running from our challenges and instead face them with intention, we discover that the path forward has always been there—waiting for us to walk it.
Progress may not be linear, and the journey may feel overwhelming at times, but every step through the fog brings us closer to clarity and victory. The problem, as painful as it may be, holds the gift of the solution. With each moment of presence and resilience, we flourish in ways we never thought possible.