flowers still bloom in hell

Hey lovely soul, 

I received the compression socks I bought for my feet today. 

As I looked at them, I realised they’re the physical proof of the heart, the hours, the swollen feet, the late nights, the weight of pouring myself into something that matters — the birth and creation of The Unmasking Comprehensive Workbook. 

I’ve just released this pouring into the world and couldn’t help but reflect on the decade-long journey of self-discovery and exhuming that brought me here. 

I looked back, thought of all the moments that felt too big to survive, too heavy to carry, too much to handle. And I think… isn’t it wild, Pearl? Those moments weren’t the end of your story. They weren’t even close. 

There’s something very laughable about hindsight. Those heavy walls that were closing in, the chapter you were incredibly desperate to leave behind, the pain, the struggle — suddenly they seem to fit nicely into the map you’ve followed to where you are today. And I do not believe this to be coincidence or serendipity. I think it’s proof of what a self, determined to carve out their own destiny, is capable of. 

I must admit, I love watching life. People. And when I’m not watching them in real time, I’m immersed in a slice-of-life simulation of it — those films, bodies of cinema, stories that unfold so slowly, so ordinarily, yet so beautifully magical, heavy, and majestic. It’s the complexity — the often mundane, those moments of doubt, those hidden tears — where the humanness of the protagonists is so evident. Where they can’t seem to find a way forward… and yet, they do. Imperfectly. Painfully. But they do. 

And that’s what makes the story unforgettable. That’s what pulls at the heartstrings. You’re experiencing a remembering — that the nature of life, mine, yours, is that the story isn’t done yet. It’s unfolding. 

You’re the protagonist of your own story. And right now, you might be in the middle of a seemingly impossible chapter. But impossible is where growth begins. It’s where you discover just how creative and full of possibilities you can be. 

The good news is, there’s nothing lower than rock bottom. So, when you find yourself there, the only way must be up. Rock bottom feels impossible because we’re looking down, looking to the sides, and forgetting to look up. Up is cloudy and foggy. It has no end — none that we can see. But up is a way, albeit a tough one. And in walking that hard, uncertain path, we are forced to look at ourselves. We are forced to rebuild, to redefine who we are and what we want. We learn to stop avoiding the clouds and start riding them. 

That’s the turning point. 

That’s Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: 

That’s Friedrich Nietzsche’s: 

In the toughest moments, it’s your why that will carry you through. 

Why do you keep going? 

Why do you dream, hope, and strive? 

It’s not about having all the answers right now. 

It’s about holding onto the belief that your story has meaning. That your life is a narrative worth writing, even when the next page feels blank. 

For me, I kept going because I saw myself free. In my mind’s eye, a version of me that existed without shackles and inherited burdens. I saw her so clearly, and she was me and I was her. I had no clue how to reach her, but in every moment that felt impossible, I looked up at the thick fog, at the clouds, and imagined her at the end of it. Arms stretched out, waiting to connect, to merge. 

I thought, if I have seen her, she must exist somewhere. So, I made it my assignment to reach her. And I thought… she’s so radiant. I wonder what she knows, what she carries. I must become someone who can be around her. 

So, I assigned my pain purpose. I made sadness my teacher. I listened to my despair. I wanted to know what they could teach me — depth? Perspective? Strength? 

I learned how to grieve. 

How to welcome sorrow so that it doesn’t swallow me whole. 

And I learned that that’s what was required — to become a student of life. In everything. Not to resist, but to observe, study, receive, then release. 

Your destiny is in your hands, simply because it is up to you to assign your experiences a place in your story. The stars don’t do it for you. 

I stopped asking ‘Why me?’ and started asking ‘What’s next?’ What’s unravelling here? 

The observations, discoveries, and lessons I have learned have been my anchor — a part of my foundation for the incredible life I am building. 

So yes, trauma, setbacks, detours, closed doors — they don’t have to be the end of your story. If you let them, they can be a bridge to what comes next. 

Five years ago, I stood outside under the moonlight, singing, swirling, and crying to a song I had written. At the top of my lungs, I screamed my chorus: 

Flowers still bloom in hell 🎶 

Flowers still bloom in hell 🎶 

Flowers still bloom in hell 🎶 

I believe this to be true. 

So, if you’re standing in the middle of the storm, feeling like this is all there is, remind yourself: this is just a moment. A chapter. A part of the journey. And just like every other moment in your life, it will pass. 

The story will continue. And so will you. 

You are still unfolding. The best parts — the most joyful, the most fulfilling, the most surprising parts — are still ahead of you. You have so much more to experience. So much more to give. So much more to become. 

So, keep looking up. Place your why in your mind’s eye, at the bottom of the clouds, the end of the tunnel. Then rise, and rise, until you meet them. 

You can find The Unmasking Workbook here. I hope it meets you where you are and holds you as you walk towards yourself. 

As always, it’s been an absolute pleasure. 

Catch you in the next note, 

Pearl♡