Loved Ones Visiting, Grief and Depression

When Chaos Meets Magic: A Week of Mishaps, Miracles, and Moments with Loved Ones

From stomach bugs to stained sheets, this week was a rollercoaster. But amidst the chaos, I found magic—and a reminder that my loved ones are always with me.

Murphy’s Law and Me

I don’t like to feed energy to Murphy’s Law, but this week? It sat at the head of the table, grinning. Everything that could go wrong did—yet in the wreckage, there were flickers of magic, like light catching the edge of a broken mirror. The kind of moments that remind you: the universe isn’t just testing you; it’s trying to reach you.

I should’ve known better. The signs were there—subtle, then glaring—but I was too determined to bulldoze through. Let me explain.

The Plan (Or: How I Ignored Every Omen)

I’d booked a villa for one night. Simple, right? Three reasons:

1. To Film in Peace

My virtual yoga and meditation sessions—especially the complimentary Global Virtual Mediations; Sunday’s offerings—needed fresh backdrops. The feedback from participants had been soul-filling, and I wanted to give my timeline something beautiful. But filming at home? No. I’m strict about energy. My living space is sacred, a container for rest and real life—not performative serenity for the internet.

2. A Staycation (Yes, Even in Bali)

Laugh if you must. Paradise becomes routine when you live there. My days are a blur of work and village life—laughter over tea, debates with neighbors, the comfort of known faces. But comfort can become a cage. I needed to see something new, even for 24 hours.

3. The Illusion of Control

I’ll admit it: I stick to what I know. Same cafes, same routes, same rhythms. This was my attempt to rebel against my own patterns.

First Warning Sign: The Body Rebels

Three days before check-in, the stomach bug hit. One moment I was packing my tripod; the next, I was attached to a toilet, burning up with fever. For 48 hours, I alternated between chills and sweat-soaked sheets, my body purging something vicious. By the time the fever broke, my reflection looked hollow—cheekbones protruding, eyes glassy. But I'd already paid for the villa. Already promised content. So I performed the truly deranged ritual of every chronic overachiever: mainlined electrolytes, stayed awake for 24 hours on fraying adrenaline, squeezed in a two-hour nap, then hauled my trembling corpse to check-in. The kind of dehydrated where your tongue sticks to your teeth. The kind of exhausted where colors pulse at the edges of your vision. Still whispering: I have to deliver. They're expecting me.

The Unraveling

The villa was stunning. A triangular room with vaulted ceilings, a kitchenette, a shower with everything I could need. For a moment, I swelled with pride: This is how I love myself.

Then—

- The Stain

I pulled back the duvet to film a "morning meditation" scene—only to freeze. There, on the sheets: a yellowed, crusted patch. The kind you don’t need a forensic team to identify. My stomach lurched. I’d ignored the sticky floors, but this? Nope. I snapped a photo for evidence (because who would believe this?), then retreated to the bathroom.

- The Toilet

Lifted the lid. Unflushed poop. Are you kidding me? I crumpled onto the couch and cried. Not elegant tears—ugly, heaving sobs. The kind where you’re half-laughing because the absurdity is too much. I paid for this. I’m filming “peaceful content” here. The staff came, apologetic, scrubbing away the evidence. But the energy clung.

- The Storm

As I finally set up my phone to film, the sky split open. Rain hammered the roof. Lights flickered. Then my phone storage filled up. Of course.

That night, sleep refused me. I popped Benadryl like candy, heart racing, pacing the room like a caged animal. By 5 AM, I surrendered. Forget filming. Just survive.

The Turn: When Grief Walked In

The next morning, staff knocked loudly—I’d overslept checkout. They offered free lunch as apology. At that point, I was a ragdoll of resignation. Fine. Feed me.

The restaurant overlooked emerald rice paddies, the kind of view that makes you forget your own name. I ordered snapper with mashed potatoes, my comfort meal. Ate slowly, savoring. Then—

Ed Sheeran’s "Photograph" played.

Time stopped.

My grandmother’s face flashed behind my eyes. The way she’d hum off-key in the kitchen, the weight of her hand on mine during our T.V. nights. Suddenly, I was crying in public, fat tears plopping into my mashed potatoes. Not sad tears—full ones. She was here. Not a metaphor. Here. In the sticky air, the sway of the palm leaves, the way the light hit the fish on my plate just so.

The song faded. I took a breath, fork hovering—

A glint. A shard of glass nestled in the mashed potatoes.

I didn’t react. Just stared. The waiter rushed over, apologizing, but I was somewhere else. She’s still looking out for me. Even here. Even now.

The Aftermath: What the Chaos Taught Me

1. Your Body Knows Before You Do

The fever, the exhaustion—they weren’t obstacles. They were stop signs. Next time, I’ll listen.

2. Grief Doesn’t Knock

It barges in during lunch, in a song, in the quiet after a storm. Let it. Those are the moments our loved ones are closest.

3. Protection Shows Up in Ugly Wrapping

Stained sheets, a dirty toilet, a glass shard—all of it forced me to slow down. To pay attention. My grandmother didn’t send a butterfly. She sent a mess. Because that’s the only way I would listen.

Final Thought:

I went searching for a pretty backdrop. What I found was better: proof that love doesn’t leave. It just changes shape.

Eternally loved. Eternally grateful.

Shane ♥️🦋