What It Feels Like to Remember (And Why It Doesn’t Always Feel Like Light)

There’s this quiet part of the path no one really talks about.

The part where you start to forget what you used to love. The part where your body aches in unfamiliar ways. The part where noise feels too loud, and small talk too sharp, and things that once held comfort suddenly feel hollow.

No one tells you that remembering who you are might start with grief.

Not the big dramatic grief of loss or death — but the soft kind. The quiet ache of something you can’t name. The hollow behind your ribs when you realize you’ve outgrown the life you spent so long building. The flicker in your chest when you feel something calling you — but it doesn’t speak in words.

I didn’t wake up one day and feel “spiritually aligned.”

I unraveled.

I forgot things I used to rely on. I doubted everything I once felt so sure about. I cried in rooms I used to feel powerful in. I pulled away from people who didn’t do anything wrong — I just couldn’t pretend anymore.

And at first, I thought it meant I was falling apart. But now I understand:

That was the beginning of remembering.

The myth of spiritual joy almost kept me stuck.

I thought awakening would feel like bliss. I thought remembering would feel like golden light and soaring freedom. And some days, yes — it does. But most days?

It feels like dismantling. Like shedding layers I didn’t realize I had glued to my skin. Like walking away from ways of being that once kept me safe, even if they were slowly breaking my heart.

What remembering actually feels like:

It feels like suddenly not tolerating what you used to. Like knowing things without knowing how you know them. Like weeping over a song, or a breeze, or the way the light lands on your coffee mug.

It feels like craving solitude. Like losing your taste for performing. Like noticing grief rise when joy returns, because you forgot what it felt like.

It feels like the soul stirring inside the body — and the body not knowing what to do with it.

And this?

This is not you disappearing. This is you returning.

If you're here...

...reading these words, aching in ways you can’t name, doubting everything you thought you were supposed to want…

Then please know: You are not broken. You are not behind. You are not failing.

You are remembering.

And no matter how soft or strange it feels — it’s sacred.

You don’t have to do it alone.

This space — Whispers of Remembrance — was never meant to be a brand. It’s a beacon. A place where we can hold each other through the unraveling and the becoming.

If you’d like a soul message, or you’re feeling tender and curious, I offer gentle sessions. But more than that — I offer presence. And a soft, quiet reminder:

You are not too late. You are not too much.

You are not too tired to bloom again.

You’re just remembering.

I see you.

— Kimberley