Lost and Found: When a Box Breaks Open, So Does Your Soul

Life’s big transitions often show up as practical to-do lists — moving house, shifting careers, changing routines. We think if we just manage the logistics well enough, we’ll glide through. But what I’ve learned (again) recently is this: underneath all that surface stuff, there’s usually something deeper going on.

Because change doesn’t just happen in the external. It stirs things up inside. It brings things to the surface that we didn’t even know we were still carrying. And sometimes, the thing that breaks us open is the one we least expect.

When the box breaks...

For me, it was a box of old family photos.

In the middle of unpacking after our big move and sorting and decluttering, I opened this box and the photos just spilled everywhere. And then, without warning, so did the tears. I cried and cried and cried. It wasn’t just about the photos — it was everything they held. The memories. The people. The versions of me that existed in those moments.

That one simple box cracked open something I hadn’t realised was still so tightly held inside. And once it broke open, there was no holding it back.

What I was experiencing wasn’t just about the move. It was years of emotion, unprocessed grief, love, loss, and longing all flowing out — and, strangely, it felt like relief. That kind of raw release is messy and uncomfortable, but it’s also healing.

The nudge to return to nature

In the days that followed, I found myself being called back to nature — to the beach, to the water. I needed space. I needed grounding. I needed something bigger than me to hold it all.

But it wasn’t all calm and serenity. That first plunge into the ocean? It was freezing. My body resisted. I stood there, hesitating, wondering what I was doing. But something in me — that quiet inner knowing — said, “Get back in. The water is healing.”

So I did. And it was.

Being in nature helps us process what words can’t. It doesn’t rush us. It doesn’t expect us to have it all figured out. It just holds us — while we feel, while we remember, while we reconnect with the parts of ourselves we’ve forgotten along the way.

Finding a younger version of me

As I floated and moved with the waves, something beautiful happened. I felt her. That younger version of me — the one who used to laugh easily, dance for no reason, and believe in magic. She came back. And I could feel her energy merge with mine.

I heard her say, “Thank you. Thank you for finding me again. I’ve been lost.”

And I realised how long I’d been disconnected from that carefree, playful part of myself. Life gets heavy. We carry responsibilities, roles, and expectations. And somewhere along the way, we can lose touch with the most joyful, light-filled parts of who we are.

That moment was a soul retrieval — not in a mystical, out-there way, but in the real, human sense of coming back to myself. Remembering who I was before the world got loud.

Letting the emotions move through

There was no neat solution, no checklist to work through in that moment. Just emotion. And that’s the point.

When we’re in the thick of it — in the middle of the tears, the overwhelm, the remembering — we don’t need to fix anything. We just need to feel. To witness what’s coming up. To let it move through us, rather than around us.

It’s not about pushing through. It’s about pausing. Listening. Allowing.

That’s where the healing is.

Tools to support the journey

While this process is deeply personal and emotional, there are tools that can help support it. One of the most powerful ones for me has been Human Design. It’s helped me understand myself more clearly — especially the parts I used to think were “too much” or “not enough.” Now I know they’re part of my magic.

I’ve also worked with energy healing and soul retrieval practices over the years. These practices help us reconnect with the truth of who we are, beneath all the layers we’ve picked up along the way.

Coming home to yourself

At its heart, this experience reminded me of something simple but powerful: we’re not trying to become someone new. We’re trying to remember who we are. The parts of us we left behind, not because we wanted to, but because life got busy, or hard, or complicated.

Those parts are still there. Still alive. Still waiting to be felt and seen.

They’re not just memories — they’re keys. Keys to our joy. Our truth. Our sense of aliveness.

We don’t have to chase them down. We just need to slow down long enough to hear their whisper.