Who Do You Think You Are?

Today is my birthday 🎉

And I cannot help but think back on the year that’s passed—a year that changed my life in the best possible way.

You should know that I am not the kind of person who remembers dreams or has visions. But this story started on a sunny spring day last April, in a beautiful spa in Amsterdam during a ritual that resembled a native sweat lodge.

I was there with my sister, feeling fully present in my body—no thoughts, no discomfort, just stillness. That’s rare for me. But there I was, watching fire and smoke dance to native drumming, when a vision came.

My power animal, the Bald Eagle, appeared. I climbed onto its wings and soared—no fear, just liberation. Then a wasp buzzed into view, right in front of my face. It startled me, but it didn’t feel random. It felt very intentional.

Without needing to analyze what had happened, I simply knew: It’s time to write my book. I even said it out loud to my sister as we stepped outside.

What I didn’t fully realize then was that writing my manuscript The Woman I Had to Find, would require me to do something I had avoided for years: to truly step into my past and acknowledge it for what it was. Not downplaying it. Just telling my truth. Out loud, and in the open: “I am a survivor of abuse“. And that action changed everything.

It’s not that I hid my past… I just didn’t talk about it. Me, and most women (and men, I’m sure) just don’t—talk about it. It’s done, it’s in the past, why bring it up? It’s almost like when you talk about, you relive it to some extent.

There’s a Charles Cooley quote I heard that stuck with me this week:

“I am not who I think I am.

I am not who you think I am.

I am who I think you think I am.”

Given, you likely need to read that a few times before the true meaning lands.

“I am who I think, you think I am.”

For a long, long time, that’s exactly how I lived—I was the one who I believed others needed me to be. Naturally, most parts of me were true, but my most vulnerable part was locked deep inside. I hid the part that was hurt the most, because that was the safest thing to do. And I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.

It truly began to shift when I started to write. Putting words to what I had experienced. My story—out there. To stop carrying it alone and start giving it a voice. What I found wasn’t the pain I expected from revisiting those dark times. Sure, it was difficult—but what came was relief. The first time I introduced myself as a survivor, I cried not because I felt ashamed, but because of the freedom I felt of speaking up. For finally being seen as I am—all of me.

This past year, more than ever, I stopped trying to prove myself (to myself) or live up to what I thought was expected of me. I started listening inward. Like really listening. I gave myself the gift of “feeling heard”.

And what I’m writing for you today… is my story, yes. But knowing that one in three women worldwide experience sexual violence or abuse, it’s clear that I am not alone in this. And you only have to read or listen to the news every day to know how speaking up changes the dynamics. For you, and for others.

So today, on my birthday, I chose to share a bit of my story with you…

Hoping that in turn, you’ll talk to someone about your experiences. Even to only one other person that you trust—it’s a step forward to being able to say:

“I am the woman who was always possible. And I love her—all of her.”

With all my love and respect,

Bo 🩵

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