Captain of My Ship, Master of My Emotions

Story time.

I live life like I’m sailing through open water. Sometimes I’m the captain.
Sometimes I’m just one of the crew, wearing many hats, trying to hold on together aboard this ship named Carlos.

Somewhere along the way, through calm and chaos, I started to understand what it really means to take the wheel.

There was a time the storms hit hard. I was drifting. No anchor. No direction. Just trying to stay afloat.
I’d taken hits I didn’t expect. Made choices I wasn’t proud of. I couldn’t pretend I had it all together anymore.

That’s when I found a harbor.
A safe harbor.
A community that didn’t ask for explanations. Just your presence, fully as you are.
Love. Kindness. Compassion.

The kind of space the Divine places in your path when you’re barely holding on.
A place to rest, recover, and be held by something bigger than yourself.

I didn’t go searching for it. I was guided there.
The message was clear: “This is your safe harbor, for as long as you’re in it.”

And I stayed.
I found healing.
It felt good to help others.
To show up from a place that wasn’t running on empty.

That healing deepened through service, through my work, my presence, and purpose.

I found deep love.
Deep connections.
Friendships that were true for that time, that space, that moment.
Some were meant to come with me to where I’m going.
Some were not.
They were meant to stay, to go another way.
They were meant to witness that part of me as I grew.
And that was enough.

One day, I felt the winds change.
I could smell it in the air.
Something shifted.
My body knew before my mind caught up.

It was time to leave the harbor.

So I left. Not chasing anything. Just trusting what I felt.
No map. No certainty. Just the pull.

Some people came with me.
Some stayed behind.
Some jumped in for a bit, thinking they were ready.
Some left quietly.
Some stayed longer than they should have.
Some were never meant to go past that first harbor.

The sea got rough.
The skies went dark.
I tried to hold it all together, but I was drifting again.

Then my first mate jumped ship.
No warning. No goodbye.
Gone overnight.

And I mean, how could I blame that person for not sticking around,
when I couldn’t even hold myself together?

I wasn’t leading.
I wasn’t steady.
I didn’t trust myself to steer.
The ship was off course, and I knew it.

But some stayed.

The loud ones.
The quiet ones.
The weird ones.

The ones who didn’t need a plan.
They showed up when it mattered. And they stayed.
There was balance.
Mutual reciprocity.
No pressure. Just presence.

They didn’t try to take over.
They didn’t try to fix me.
They didn’t disappear.
They just stayed.

Eventually, I found another harbor.
Quieter this time.
No community. No noise. Just stillness.

A space where I could finally slow down.
Where I walked the dogs.
Sat with my thoughts.
Faced what I had avoided.
Had the conversations with myself that no one else could have had with me.

Where the repair began.
I didn’t need to explain anything.
I just needed to be well, with myself.

I patched what had torn.
Steadied my hands.
Remembered the rhythm of the sea.
And felt the fire in my chest again.

The first harbor gave me connection, purpose, and reflection.
The second gave me stillness, space, and room to come back to myself.
Part of the flow of life.
Part of the cycle.

And now, I’m ready.

I’m back at the helm.
With wisdom in my hands.
With patience in my breath.
With discernment in my choices.
With resilience in every scar that held through the journey.

I move with intention,
careful about who I allow on board,
where I’m headed,
when to act,
and how I protect my time, my energy, and my space.

Time to sail to new horizons.
Back to being captain of my ship.
And master of my emotions.