Sometimes healing requires closure.

It can happen within ourselves, but sometimes it needs to be faced directly. I’m about to embark on the second path. I need to step into the past to unlock—or unblock—my future.

Some of you already know this, but for those who don’t: I’m currently preparing and training for a new career alongside my holistic business. I haven’t worked for someone else in so long that it feels almost ridiculous how crucial it is now to fulfill every single requirement. One of those is to provide two professional references based on previous work experience.

As someone who has worked in hospitality across various countries—and whose path was often far from smooth—I frequently ended up in problematic or unstable businesses. We’re talking about 25+ years of experience. I recently had to do Garda vetting, and not just once.

Here’s one issue: when you’ve moved around a lot, you don’t necessarily keep track of every address you’ve lived at since birth—especially at nearly 45 years old. While looking up these places on Google, I found that most of them have either closed down or changed ownership. One place, once a luxurious brasserie where I worked, has changed hands so many times it’s now called “5c”—which says a lot about the current food standard there. Even if I wanted to ask them for a reference, it would be impossible.

The place I’m going this evening, is family owned business. The manager was the oldest son. The last time I worked there was 17 years ago. I am not the same person I was then. So much has changed. In fact, even thinking about who I was back then amazes me, seeing how far I’ve evolved. I think his parents have passed away.

One thing that hasn’t changed: the manager’s wife.

He and I always kept things strictly professional, and we lost contact naturally when I moved on. There were never any bad feelings between us. When I finished my second season contract, he agreed to be my reference and told me to give his mobile number. I passed it along a couple of times, and he always honoured his word. In fact, his feedback was so good that a few employers didn’t hire me—thinking I was overqualified for the roles I had applied for.

But I’ve lost his number.

The only way forward was for my potential new employer to contact the hotel directly. They emailed but haven’t received a reply yet—they’ll try again. But I know that unless I intervene, he won’t even be aware of this request.

I consider myself humble. I don’t show off.

I’m not competitive, but I do love challenges. There’s a big difference: competition is with others, while challenges are with ourselves. I don’t understand jealousy. Sure, I might envy someone for a brief moment, but I know my desires are my responsibility. I don’t need to bring someone else down to reach my goals. If jealousy exists, it’s a sign that inner work is needed to unblock access to our own dreams. And here is some whose blocking my goals for their own jealousy.

During my first season at that restaurant, I brought the locals back. My skills, knowledge, and grace increased their profits—though, unfortunately, much of it was wasted on overpriced designer and design decisions. On the last night of that season, every tables were booked by locals. They had no idea they’d all be dining together, but the energy felt like a true celebration—what they called during that evening “The Last Supper.” It was honestly biblical.

They came in separately but left together. They laughed, hugged us, tipped generously, and even went down to the kitchen to thank the staff. It was unforgettable—for them, for us, and even for the owners. We were exhausted but deeply moved and appreciated.

That is how good I was.

Before I arrived, many locals had stopped coming because of the manager’s wife. She didn’t like the shift my presence brought. I heard rumours from multiple sources that she was spreading awful things about me, even teaching her 6-year-old daughter to call me “the fat fucker.” She harmed me to the point I had to see a doctor urgently, who then contacted the business to warn them of the serious consequences of her behaviour. But I still showed up the next day. She thought I’d quit. I didn’t.

The manager worked in a different business during the day and only came in at night. She managed the emails—she still does. And clearly, she’s still blocking contact.

So yesterday, after my future employer told me they had tried contacting the hotel with no success, I made a decision:

I’m going to show up—17 years later—unannounced, at the restaurant.

Not to stir the past, but to speak with him directly. Just to explain where I am in life now, and what I need. If he can help, that’s all I ask.

I’m not scared or panicking.

But the closer it gets, the more my heart races. It’s not fear. It’s the intensity of facing something that has long been left behind.

I think I may be too late to go to the Rockshop now…

Please, send light.