After the election, I froze.
Not physically. Not dramatically. Just… soul-deep stuck.
The kind of frozen that numbs your creativity, dulls your spark, makes you question everything you thought you were here to do.
The first time he was elected, I did what Marianne Williamson suggested. I prayed for him for 90 days. Every single day. I didn’t pray that he’d change. I prayed that my heart would. And it did. Something alchemical happened. That practice transmuted my anger into something softer, something more useful. I was still awake, still vocal—but no longer bitter.
But this last election? I couldn’t summon it.
I couldn’t love my 75 million neighbors who voted for him. I didn’t even want to try.
And that truth rattled me. Because if I can’t hold space for my fellow humans, if I can’t embody compassion—who am I to host a podcast called Chasing Self-Actualization?
That question haunted me. Until yesterday.
Until I watched the two most powerful men in the world throw a Twitter tantrum that would make toddlers look wise.
And in that moment, something inside me cracked open—and not in a bad way.
Who am I not to?
If they can show up online and act like that,
I can show up and do what I love:
Hold space for the seekers.
Celebrate the healers.
Shine a light on people who are walking the hard, beautiful path toward wholeness.
Talk with guests who are living in alignment, building community, channeling Christ consciousness, creating lives rooted in purpose and grace.
Marisol