What I’ve Learned from Beach Glass

When I walk the shores near my Florida home, I often find myself scanning the sand—not for shells, but for beach glass. Small pieces of once-broken glass, softened by the ocean. Their sharp edges worn smooth by salt, sand, and time. They catch the light differently than anything else on the beach—muted, matte, quietly beautiful.

What I love most is knowing what they once were: something jagged, something discarded, something that could cut you if you weren’t careful. The ocean didn’t erase their history. It transformed it.

These small treasures have come to represent parts of me that were once sharp like broken glass; beliefs and behaviors that were shaped by old wounds formed jagged, protective edges long ago. Like beach glass, those parts were buried for years, unseen and untouched, but still very much felt. And like beach glass, they weren’t healed by being avoided, but by being slowly worked on—through time, awareness, compassion, and truth. What emerged wasn’t perfection, but softness. Presence. A new kind of beauty.

We all carry pieces like this inside us—shards formed in childhood, beliefs we adopted to survive and belong. The “armor” that once protected us hardened into patterns that keep us distant from ourselves and from those we love. Often, without meaning to, these old adaptations ripple into our closest relationships.

As you read this, you might pause for a moment and notice what’s happening in your own body. What feels tender, what feels familiar, what’s asking for attention?

This blog is an invitation. I’ll be sharing parts of my journey in a way that may help you recognize your own. Because beneath the details, what we share is this: we are all daughters of mothers who were also daughters. Each generation carrying forward what wasn’t healed in the last, until someone chooses to pause and tend to the wound.

The good news is that cycles can be interrupted. Patterns can soften. Transformation is possible.

My own healing journey began during a period when everything seemed to confirm a painful belief I had carried quietly for years—that I was a bad mother. I saw myself repeating some of the toxic behaviors I had experienced from my parents when I was a child, but as an adult, I did not yet have the emotional intelligence or the frame of reference to choose my reactions differently. In response to yet another break-down with my then-teenaged daughter, she would tear my face off another family photo she’d pasted to her bedroom wall. I felt ashamed, unworthy, and deeply confused about how to repair one of the most precious relationships in my life.

What I eventually learned is that healing didn’t come from trying harder, fixing faster, or proving my love through doing. It came from turning inward—tending to the parts of me that were in pain, and gently taking responsibility for how that pain was shaping my interactions. I started years ago by attending a 3-day personal development workshop where I began to recognize my patterns. From there, I committed to doing my inner work through coaching, therapy, and a variety of modalities that helped me understand and heal those parts of myself that, when triggered, led to self-abandonment and reactivity.

Today, my relationship with my daughter is healthier than either of us could have imagined years ago. We’re emotionally healthier. While we still get activated sometimes by old, deeply buried wounds, we now have the inner resources to work through these triggers, sometimes together, sometimes on our own. It’s not always easy, but we land in a more empowered, more loving space, with honesty, vulnerability, and boundaries. Perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned to trust my own worth, independent of anyone else’s reassurance.

I named this blog Treasures from the Journey because that’s how this path feels when I look back. Along the way, I’ve gathered insights, experiences, and moments of reckoning that reshaped how I live and love. I’ve shed layers of armor that once kept me safe but also kept me isolated. I’ve learned to listen more closely to my body, to speak more truthfully, and to choose with greater courage.

The greatest treasure of all is the life I get to live now—more authentically, more embodied, more aligned. Not looking to my children to meet my emotional needs. I am a sovereign woman, guided by my inner truth.

So I wonder—what pieces has the ocean of your life already begun to soften?
What quiet treasures are already forming in the depths?