10 WAYS SPIRITUALITY SHAPED MY LIFE
A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with my dad venting about something I had wanted but couldn’t have. And he simply said: “What’s not yours cannot be yours.”
It wasn't until that moment I realized my parents have probably shaped my spiritual beliefs more than I’ve given them credit for. Growing up in Jamaica, they were steeped in a culture where wise sayings, superstitions, intuitive knowing, and trust in divine timing were actually part of everyday life. And those values—quietly but consistently—made their way to me over the years.
So maybe it shouldn’t be as surprising that I started feeling drawn to spirituality long before I really understood what it was. In middle school, I started collecting crystal bead bracelets—hoping to align my energy with the stones: purple amethyst for protection or rose quartz for love. I was addicted to horoscopes, using them as a gateway to understand myself and others. By high school, I had bought my first tarot deck. I’ve always had a strong desire to connect with something greater than myself—something unseen, but deeply felt.
Of course, it wasn’t until a big heartbreak in my 30th year (aka my Saturn Return) that I found myself intentionally looking for deeper answers about what was happening inside of me. My tarot reader at the time suggested I read a few Buddhist philosophy books: The Novice by Thich Nhat Hanh and The Places That Scare You by Pema Chödrön. Those set me on the spiritual path I’ve now been walking for nearly a decade. The teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, Pema Chödrön, Eckhart Tolle, Don Miguel Ruiz, Alan Watts cracked me open, expanded my mind, and offered me a new way to look at life. Their words helped me navigate anxiety, a career pivot, and the many layers of my search for love.
And I’ll be honest—there’s still a part of me that feels uncomfortable talking about spirituality. Maybe because it feels so personal and there are so many different ways to define it. Maybe it’s because people try to diminish it by referring to it as “woo woo.” And maybe it’s because, unfortunately, a lot of what gets labeled as “spiritual” online can feel disconnected from reality—sometimes even harmful. There are versions of spirituality that are steeped in privilege and spiritual bypassing—promising peace without doing any of the deeper work.
For me, spirituality cannot exist without practicality. I need my practice to be grounded—in truth, in action, in inclusivity. It's meant to help us show up in the real world not escape from it. If it doesn’t help me show up everyday with compassion, clarity, and courage—what’s the point? With that in mind, here are ten ways spirituality has shaped my life—lessons that have grounded me, challenged me, and helped me show up more fully every day.
1. We can't avoid uncertainty: Especially if you live with anxiety, uncertainty can feel intolerable on every level. So much of my anxiety stemmed from a deep need to control things I perceived as unsafe. But life is inherently uncertain. There’s no way to predict or control the outcomes of our lives, no matter how much we try. And the more we operate from a place of rigidity—trying to pull the strings behind the scenes—the more stress we create for ourselves. It becomes exhausting. It keeps us in survival mode. When we live from fear, we play it safe. But safety isn’t the same as freedom. And it’s certainly not the same as joy. Spirituality has taught me that I can live with uncertainty, not against it.
2. Pain can harden us—or soften us: This is the central theme of one of my favorite books, The Places That Scare You by Pema Chödrön. When we experience heartbreak or something doesn't work out for us the way we hoped, we have a choice: we can close off and build walls to protect us—or we can let the experience open us, tenderize us, and lead us back to our humanity. It’s natural to want to protect ourselves from hurt. But those tender feelings? They’re proof that we’re still connected—to ourselves, to love, to the truth that we’re alive. It’s actually a gift to feel so deeply, even when it’s uncomfortable. Every heartbreak, disappointment, or loss offers us a chance to stay soft. To stay open. To remember that sensitivity isn’t a weakness—it’s a doorway back to who we really are.
3. We are not our thoughts: This might sound simple, but it’s not always easy—especially when your mind is filled with dark, negative, obsessive, or intrusive thoughts. When those thoughts are loud and persistent, it’s tempting to believe them. To think, this must be true—because I thought it. But so many of our thoughts aren’t rooted in truth—they’re shaped by fear, conditioning, trauma, and patterns we picked up long ago. They are not who we are. Learning how to observe my thoughts without overidentifying with them has been life-changing. It doesn’t mean ignoring them, but it does mean noticing them with a little more distance and a lot more compassion. The moment you realize you are the witness, not the voice in your head, is the moment you can start to reclaim your peace.
4. Don't take things personally: The more I’ve lived this and observed others, the easier it’s become to see that how people treat you often says more about what’s going on inside them—their fears, their self-image, their inner struggles—than it does about you. Even well-meaning advice can be projection; people give advice based on what they would have done—but they’re not you. Once you understand that, you stop internalizing every little interaction. You stop making other people’s moods or reactions a reflection of your worth. We all know someone unhappy with where they are in life, whose negativity spills into every aspect, judging those who seem to have more or are doing better. People who are at peace with themselves have little interest in being mean, dramatic, or reactive.
5. Be impeccable with your word: out of all of The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz, this is probably the one that has stuck with me the most. Starting with myself, I try to never speak negatively about or to myself. And it's also made me a lot less interested in gossip. Of course, I'm human and I still gossip. But I can’t do it without feeling uneasy about it. I can’t do it without checking in with myself: Why did I say that? What was underneath it? More often than not, gossip is also rooted in projection. Being impeccable with my word doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being intentional. It means speaking from clarity, not insecurity. It means asking myself: Is this true? Is this necessary? Is this kind? I don’t always get it right, but I try. Because our words create our world—and I want mine to be built on honesty not comparison.
6. Live in the now: one of the greatest gifts of a spiritual practice— especially for those of us who suffer from anxiety—is the reminder to stay present. Anxiety has a way of dragging us into the past or hurling us into the future, or sometimes both at once. It convinces us that we can prevent pain or control our outcome by overthinking. But all that really does is disconnect us from the only thing that’s real: this very moment. You know what almost always helps me feel more calm? Grounding myself in my present reality. Tuning into what’s happening right here, right now. When I used to work in an office I had a post-it note on my computer that said “THIS IS IT," inspired by Alan Watts. It was a reminder that the only moment that matters is the one that I’m currently in.
7. Trust in divine timing: Just because I want something now doesn’t mean I’m ready for it—or that it’s ready for me. Divine timing isn’t always convenient, but it’s often perfect in hindsight. I’ve learned this through so many moments in my life—from losing my virginity, to landing my first editorial job, to eventually quitting my dream job to work for myself. The delays, detours, and disappointments were often protection or preparation. There’s a greater force at play, even when we can’t see it. Trusting in divine timing means loosening my grip and remembering that what’s truly meant for me won’t pass me by. I still get impatient, of course—but I try to meet that feeling with faith instead of fear.
8. Practice Self-Compassion/Loving-Kindness: The more I’ve practiced being gentle with myself, the more I’ve come to understand how healing it is to meet your own pain with kindness instead of judgment. I’m a loyal follower of Dr. Kristin Neff’s self-compassion work, which has taught me how to turn toward myself—especially in hard moments—instead of turning away. It’s a practice. And the more we practice it inwardly, the more naturally it flows outward.
9. Surrender is the key to peace: There were countless times in the past when I wanted to surrender or thought I could surrender. I liked the idea of letting go, of trusting the universe completely. But I wasn't really there—I hadn’t been fully tested. Not in the way that would require me to actually do it. That moment came last year, when I had to make a decision about whether to stay or walk away from a relationship. It was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made. And ultimately, I chose to walk away. To do that, I had to surrender—not just the relationship, but the version of myself who would have stayed, who clung, who feared the unknown. I had to trust my path. I had to believe that there’s something else out there for me, even if I can’t see it yet. True surrender is a radical act of trust—and it has brought me more peace than control ever did.
10. My Value Is Innate: There was a time when I believed my value came from what I did—from having a highly covetable job, climbing the corporate ladder, getting to sit at a Tom Ford show or flying off to Paris Fashion Week. In the world I worked in, access equaled cachet. And it was easy to feel that that access defined me. But when I made the decision to go out on my own, I had to induce my own ego death. I had to prepare myself to leave behind my dream job—and with it, all the status and all the outside affirmation of who I was. It wasn’t just about the title, either. I had also accumulated a lot of stuff over the years. Beautiful things. Designer clothes and gifts I still deeply appreciate. But even that has shifted for me. I don’t want to posture or present myself in a way that would invite people to see my value through things. Because none of it makes me worthy. None of it is me. I’ve come to believe that I am valuable just because I’m human and I exist. And beyond that, I want to use my life to contribute something meaningful—to create, to uplift, to inspire. I know I was doing that in my old life, too—but it was much more externally focused. Now, I’m more interested in what’s happening on the inside. I want the value I offer to be rooted in truth, connection, and self-discovery—not just for others, but for myself too. To value myself not just for what I can produce, but for who I am at my core.