Well Sh*t
Rock bottom, clarity, and other inconvenient teachers.
"A philosophy exam, a chronic illness, and the rude awakening that freedom doesn’t always come gift-wrapped in gratitude. Sometimes it shows up looking like a gremlin in sweatpants whispering “nope”.
It was supposed to be a regular exam: a Socratic questionnaire. One student interviewing another for philosophy class. But on the day of the exam I had the lurgies. So instead of the group format, I had my exam one-on-one… with her.
The icon
The teacher... the woman... the myth. The walking paradox of compassion and cut-through-the-crap clarity. She had this presence: like she’d stared down life’s chaos and now used it to season her coffee.
She didn’t ask us to memorize Plato. Instead she asked us to wake the hell up. Not an easy job to teach a couple of young pretentious students who think they know more then they really do.
But so it was, during the exam she sat across from me, sipped her tea like a truth sorceress, and began asking questions. One after another. Gentle but surgical.
Until I blurted: "I don’t know."
She smiled knowingly. Like I finally cut through the bs and shown up.
“Good,” she said. “Now we can begin.”
And somewhere between surrender and snot, I stumbled onto it:
Freedom.
That was it. My compass. My anchor. My core value, hiding under all the noise.
Freedom isn’t a vibe.
It’s a f*cking reckoning.
Yeah, so life heard me
I didn’t know back then that “freedom” would become less of a value and more of a demolition project. That life would lovingly but aggressively strip away everything I clung to.
The business. The energy. The sharp mind. The plans. All gone.
Like some dramatic cosmic Marie Kondo was standing in my life asking, “Does this still spark delusion?” It’s letting go of what you thought made you you, so you can find out what’s underneath all that scaffolding.
Flash Forward
My body? A part-time cryptid.
Ambition? Currently asleep in a salt bath.
My business I built over 15 years? Paused with grace (and screaming).
And me? Sitting in the ruins with a glass of wine and a slightly scorched heart.
And still... one question kept circling like a cat you fed once:
Am I free yet?
Not free from hardship but in spite of it.
What they don’t put in self-help books
Freedom doesn’t feel like a sunset yoga retreat and an abundance mindset.
It feels more like: Grieving your own over-functioning or saying “no” and watching people leave.
Like peeling off your identity like old wallpaper.
But also?
It feels like your first full breath after holding it for ten years.
Like not needing to be useful to be worthy.
Like realizing you’re allowed to exist unpolished, unfiltered and un-trying.
So now what?
I think back to that teacher and how she didn’t flinch when I ran out of answers.
How she already knew: Freedom begins when the script ends.
That’s how I see myself now.
Not broken. Just unfinished and just starting...
Freedom isn’t a destination. It’s not a manifesto or a rebrand.
It’s the quiet moment after you stop pretending.
It’s the voice that returns when you stop asking for permission and realize its you again...
It’s the exhale after the collapse.
If you are reading this and you don’t know your answer yet or maybe you’re still unraveling.
Good.
Now we can begin.
xo,
Sanne
P.S. I write like this in my newsletter too. Unfiltered. Occasionally philosophical. Frequently sarcastic.
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