Yesterday, I felt unstoppable. The internet was buzzing with talk about cosmic alignments—Venus and Jupiter coupling up in Cancer—and whether it was the hype or a genuine shift, I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. I was on fire: writing, planning weeks ahead, organizing everything that needs to be done before my return to Zanzibar. I felt like I was winning the game.
Then came today.
I woke up with a brutal, blinding headache. Outside, the sky opened up—first a downpour, then sudden, violent hail. The atmospheric pressure mirrored the heavy weight inside my skull. I dragged myself through my usual morning routines: making the bed, lighting incense, saying my affirmations at my altar, drawing my tarot cards, and practicing my Swahili. I forced myself out of the house, chasing a sudden craving for Chinese food, grabbed some fruit and ice cream for later, and ended up here—sitting at Kongahälla mall, trying to work.
But the truth is? I feel completely exhausted and restless at the same time. A paralyzing state of limbo where you don't want to be home, but you don't have the energy to be out.
I’ve been back in Sweden for two weeks now, and if I’m being completely honest, I have felt miserable for most of that time. It started the very second I arrived—I’ve written about it before, how I completely broke down in tears in the taxi on my way home from Landvetter airport. The only real break from this heavy fog was this past weekend, when I finally cut off the energetic drain of my ex, packed my bags, and escaped to Malmö. For a second, the high frequency returned. But now? The weekend magic has faded, the fog has rolled back in, and I’m right back where I started.
And underneath the headache lies a very specific, heavy grief. A sorrow that I think few people truly understand.
It’s one thing to feel disconnected from your apartment, your city, or your country when you’re still searching for where you belong. You can tolerate the mismatch because the destination is unknown. But it’s an entirely different heartbreak when you have stumbled upon the place where you truly fit. The place where you come alive, bloom, and become a version of yourself you haven't seen in years.
To taste that reality, and then be forced to leave it because of visas, citizenship, and the heavy anchor of "things you have to fix back home"—that longing is agonizing. I know I am going back. But right now, facing the mountain of administrative tasks, preparations, and sudden health updates that might even push my departure date forward, I feel stuck. The things that used to bring me comfort in this space give me absolutely nothing right now. This is no longer my home.
If I am being completely honest with myself, I know the only way out of this emotional paralysis: I have to surrender.
I preach about letting go of control all the time, but practicing it when you are deep in the trenches of a low day is a different beast entirely. My body is screaming at me to do something, to fix it, to find a way to feel better. But I am not a robot. I cannot generate happiness on command, and I shouldn't have to.
Our emotions have a purpose. My body and soul have been through so much transition lately, and right now, they just need to catch up with everything that has happened.
So today, I am choosing not to numb the pain or force a smile. I am dropping the controls. I am allowing myself to sit here, feel the heaviness, let it rain, and just let myself be low until the weather clears.
Because deep down, I know that everything is happening for a reason—not to me, but for me. I have faith in God's plan and that everything meant for me will come when it's time. I don't have to force anything.
(I actually write a lot about the art of surrender in my book Can't believe I did that - Payhip I can't believe I'm having to remind myself of my own words right now!)
Stay gentle with your own transitions,
Love /Olga 🌊💔
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