Spring Cleaning the Soul
- Julie Quizon
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
Spring Cleaning the Soul
When the Clutter Starts Telling a Story
This weekend I rested.
No blog.
No major projects.
No rushing.
No trying to figure out my next big move.
Just rest.
After the intensity of the full moon, I woke up feeling different.
Lighter.
Clearer.
More hopeful.
The emotional storm had settled.
And for the first time in a while, I wasn't focused on everything I had accomplished.
I was focused on everything I hadn't.
The unfinished projects.
The websites.
The domains.
The ideas.
The products.
The dreams.
The plans waiting patiently in the corners of my life.
So I sat down.
I meditated.
I created frequency music to align myself with my highest timeline.
Then I started reviewing my backlog.
Every idea.
Every project.
Every vision.
Every unfinished chapter.
At first, it felt overwhelming.
But then something surprising happened.
I became excited.
Not because I was looking at unfinished work.
Because I was looking at possibility.
The next morning I woke up inspired.
One thought kept returning to me.
A mission I had almost forgotten.
Back in 2024, I started building something that was deeply connected to my heart.
Psychotherapy and wellness support for Highly Sensitive People.
Today I call them Highly Sensory Beings.
Not because we are fragile.
Because we experience life deeply.
We feel deeply.
We notice deeply.
We process deeply.
We care deeply.
And suddenly I remembered.
This was never just a business idea.
This was a calling.
This was one of the reasons I went back to school.
One of the reasons I continued studying.
One of the reasons I became certified.
One of the reasons I kept searching.
I wanted to help children.
Teenagers.
Women.
Adults.
People like me.
People who often feel too much in a world that sometimes feels too loud.
So after two years of learning, growing, experiencing life, and taking pauses when I needed them, I reopened that dream.
I refreshed the website.
I reviewed the work.
And quietly, gently, I prepared myself to begin again.
Spring has a way of doing that.
It wakes things up.
Including parts of ourselves we thought were sleeping.
As I continued reviewing my backlog, I noticed something else.
I had become a collector.
A collector of beautiful ideas.
Organic skincare.
Therapeutic wellness programs.
Soul Nurture Therapy.
Organic Essence Wellness.
Yodeha.
Music projects.
Courses.
Products.
Workshops.
Domains.
Creative concepts.
Enough ideas for several lifetimes.
Yet when I looked closer, I realized something.
There was only one thing I had consistently created.
Music.
TheraMuse.
Frequency healing.
Sound.
Creation.
Expression.
While many of my ideas remained stored away, the music kept flowing.
Music felt safe.
Music never judged me.
Music never betrayed me.
Music simply allowed me to create.
That realization led me somewhere unexpected.
A memory.
A wound.
A story I thought was finished.
Back in 2013, I had just completed nursing school.
It had taken years of sacrifice.
I failed my first licensing exam.
I remember the disappointment.
The self-doubt.
The fear.
Then I tried again.
And I passed.
Finally.
After years of hard work, I felt like life was beginning.
Job offers arrived.
Opportunities appeared.
Dreams felt possible.
I accepted a position with a health team where I could practice foot care nursing.
I was excited.
Proud.
Grateful.
I thought I had found my place.
The nurse training me was preparing for retirement.
I trusted her.
I admired her.
I believed she was my mentor.
Then something happened.
A misunderstanding.
An assumption.
A betrayal.
People believed I was recruiting clients into my private practice.
I wasn't.
The organization already knew I owned a private practice when they hired me.
There was no secret.
No hidden agenda.
Yet instead of having a conversation, assumptions were made.
And suddenly the trust I thought existed disappeared.
At the time, I didn't fully understand why that experience affected me so deeply.
Today I do.
Because it wasn't the first time.
Years earlier, I experienced another painful betrayal in the corporate world.
A female leader I admired.
Someone I trusted.
Someone I believed supported me.
And once again I found myself facing jealousy, disappointment, and heartbreak.
Looking back now, I realize those experiences created something inside me.
Not consciously.
But quietly.
A belief.
A fear.
A protective mechanism.
A part of me learned:
"If you build something yourself, nobody can take it away."
"If you work for yourself, nobody can betray you."
"If you stay small enough, maybe you won't get hurt again."
And perhaps that is why some dreams remained in storage.
Not because I wasn't capable.
Not because I wasn't ready.
Because somewhere deep inside, I was still protecting myself.
Then today another story arrived.
My best friend called.
Bad news from the Philippines.
His sixteen-year-old nephew had attempted to end his life after a difficult breakup.
Now he was in the ICU.
The news broke my heart.
Not only because of what happened.
But because I understood something about sensitive hearts.
When you are highly sensitive, relationships matter deeply.
Words matter deeply.
Loss matters deeply.
Love matters deeply.
Sometimes a broken heart doesn't feel like an event.
It feels like the end of the world.
I thought about my younger self.
The emotional storms.
The anxiety.
The overwhelm.
The nervous breakdowns.
The confusion.
Back then, we didn't have the language.
We didn't have the information.
Mental health was often misunderstood.
Sensitivity was sometimes seen as weakness.
You were expected to toughen up.
Move on.
Get over it.
Yet many of us were carrying worlds inside our hearts.
Years later, I would discover the work of highly sensitive person research.
I would study.
Train.
Become certified.
And finally find language for experiences I had lived my entire life.
Sensitive Hearts.
Highly Sensitive People.
Highly Sensory Beings.
Suddenly my story made sense.
And perhaps that's why this spring feels different.
Because this time I am not trying to fix myself.
I am trying to understand myself.
I am not trying to force productivity.
I am trying to create safety.
I am not trying to conquer the clutter.
I am trying to understand why I collected it.
Maybe the skincare products were never just products.
Maybe the websites were never just websites.
Maybe the unfinished dreams were never unfinished.
Maybe they were simply waiting.
Waiting for the part of me that finally understands where the fear came from.
Today I don't need to solve everything.
I don't need to launch everything.
I don't need all the answers.
Awareness is enough.
For now.
Because awareness is where healing begins.
And as I sit here surrounded by unfinished projects, half-built dreams, music, domains, notebooks, and possibilities, I can't help but wonder something.
What if the clutter was never the problem?
What if the clutter was the map?
And what if every unfinished dream has been quietly pointing me toward the one thing I still haven't fully explored?
The real reason I stopped creating in the first place.
To be continued...
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