Some days, I wake up feeling like a tuning fork for peace.
Other days... well, one (or several) family members will expertly push buttons I didn’t even know I still had, and I’ll find myself in a full-blown internal opera. Or someone says something entirely neutral, and suddenly I’ve written an entire dramatic screenplay around it - starring me, of course, as the misunderstood heroine.

This is where my real practice begins.

When I feel myself getting pulled into the story, I turn to Ho’oponopono.
It’s a practice I carry like a gentle, invisible toolkit.
Four phrases:

I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.

I say them - not to the other person (though sometimes that’s needed too),
but to the moment, the memory, the emotion, the old energetic pattern that just got triggered.

Because I’ve learned that most of the time, it’s not really about them.
It’s old stuff - rising.
Just like Dr. Joe Dispenza says: emotion is often just memory.
It’s not the person, or the moment, or even the coffee they made too strong.
It’s everything that memory stirs up underneath the surface, rushing up to be cleared.
And if I don’t notice that, I’ll let it color my thoughts, shape my decisions,
and start creating my future based on a past that never really got resolved.

That’s samsara. The loop. The rerun.
And I’ve lived enough reruns, thank you.

Also let’s be clear: anger itself isn’t bad.
It’s sacred. It’s a signal. It’s an energy that wants to move.
But unchecked anger, misunderstood anger, projected and repressed anger - that’s where things get messy. That’s when it takes the wheel and drives us into situations we never wanted to repeat.
So I don’t try to get rid of my anger anymore.
I try to listen to it.
And then I clear the noise around it so I can hear what it’s really asking for.

The first time I read Zero Limits by Joe Vitale, something clicked.
But I’ll be honest, I felt resentful about the idea of taking 100% responsibility.
It rubbed me the wrong way.
Like… what about the women who get attacked? What about real injustice?
At first, it felt like the spiritual version of blaming the victim - like saying “it’s your fault for what you’re experiencing,” which gave my nervous system a sharp side-eye and my inner sense of justice a quick meltdown.

It’s a tough one to untangle through logic, and I won’t try to do that here.
That’s probably a whole other blog post (with references, and possibly snacks).

What I can say is: when I stopped defending the story and started clearing the charge,
something shifted.
Even releasing the narrative for an hour felt like I’d given my emotional body a proper rinse.
Not because the world suddenly became fair or everyone apologized.
But because something inside me softened.
And when I soften, I can hear again. I can feel what’s true beneath what’s loud.

Now, when I feel that tension rise in my chest, or that swirl in my belly,
I breathe. I pause. And I repeat:

I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.

I don’t say it to make something happen.
I say it to return.
To presence.
To possibility.
To the part of me that exists before the pattern kicks in.

This is my practice.
And it’s not always graceful. But it’s real. And it works.