When Life Feels Quiet, Heavy, and on Autopilot

THIS WASN’T PLANNED

To be honest, this is a last-minute blog. Not my usual, thought-out Sunday post.

I’ve been a little distracted on this Boston trip, celebrating my daughter’s 23rd birthday. I was actually going to skip it this week... but then I realized that even one post can help someone who needs to read it.

This time, I didn’t have to think about what to write.

It just came to me.

I was sitting by the window, looking out at a gorgeous view from the presidential one-bedroom corner suite at the Fairmont Copley Plaza — one of the most historic hotels in Boston.

And you know where that moment brought me?

OPENING THE BLINDS

Years back.
A little over five years ago, when life looked very different than it does today.

It’s amazing how we still carry wounds we thought we had healed. For me, it’s something so simple — opening the blinds in the morning.

That moment always takes me back to a time when I would say to myself:

Another day.
Just like yesterday.
Just like tomorrow.
Gaby, we can do this.

That was my life for a few years.

Sad.
Lonely.
And depressed.

At the time, I didn’t even recognize it as depression. It was just my normal. Living with emptiness. No vision. No future.

I couldn’t even see past the moment I was in — let alone imagine anything ahead.

THE CONVERSATIONS IN MY HEAD

I was alone with my thoughts.
And there wasn’t an ounce of positivity in those mental conversations.

To be honest, I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my children. Every single day, they were my reason to stay alive.

It feels dramatic writing this now, but back then, it was simply my reality.

I was lost.
With no identity.
Not knowing who I was or who I wanted to be.

My sister often reminds me of something I once said to her — something that stayed with her deeply:

“I got sick from all my mental conversations.”

And I truly believe that.

I don’t believe my cancer was genetic or random, the way some people explain it. I believe it was years of negative self-talk, hopelessness, and the way I spoke to my body without even realizing it.

IF YOU’RE READING THIS

I’m not even sure where this blog is going — but I want to say this to you.

If you’re living on autopilot...
If you’re moving through life without hope...
If you’ve ever thought, “Is this all there is?”

Let me tell you something.

It’s not.

And I truly hope you don’t have to go through cancer to wake up. To be forced into survival mode just to realize that you actually want to live.

THE REASON THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

Life gets better when you find a reason.

For me, that reason was surviving disease. It was choosing to fight differently than my mother did — who, sadly, didn’t make it.

She was tired.
I was tired too.

But my children...
They meant everything to me.

They were enough for me to make the shift.

Even if you don’t have children, maybe there’s someone you deeply love. Think of them without you.

That’s all it took for me.
That was my anchor.

WHAT ACTUALLY HELPS

If I can offer any advice, it’s this:

Surround yourself with the right people.
Let the right people in.

There is always someone out there hoping to see you get better. Hoping to see your eyes light up again — or even just a half-smile.

Read the right books. There is so much out there that can touch your soul and spark a little bit of hope.

Listen to the right podcasts. I know “self-help” is an overused term, but there are truly beautiful voices out there who write and speak from a place of truth and compassion.

Slowly...
life gets better.

WHY VISION MATTERS

See yourself full of life.
Full of light.
Full of energy.

Actually enjoying your life.

This is why I always talk about vision. You need a vision to know where you’re going. Without it, we are lost.

At least, I was.

Life moves fast. You can go through it lost — or you can move through it with direction.

THE FINAL CLICK

My biggest shift came when I hired a coach.

And I don’t want you to think I’m saying this because I am one now. I became one because of that experience.

Sometimes we need someone objective.
Someone trained.
Someone who can hold space, guide us, and truly support us when we can’t see clearly on our own.

That was my final click.

The moment everything I had worked on came full circle.

A SUNDAY NOTE

I hope this helps someone.

It’s not exactly as deep or structured as I originally imagined — but it felt right.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what’s needed.

Always, always, always — with so much love,
G