one step forward, two steps back

The Fifth Pillar is emotional intelligence (EQ) with a pulse: think EQ in action, not theory. This is where I can stretch, stumble, and grow in my approach to both writing and the pursuit of a deeply fulfilled life. If my essays or poems hit home or inspire you, consider clicking the heart button below. It helps others discover my writing, and you can tell all your friends you’ve supported literary arts.

What do you think your favorite flower says about you? Without running to look it up online or jumping to AI, what would your personal interpretation be? In 2022, my boss sent me a bouquet that included effervescent white roses. Perhaps it’s their striking elegance, or stealing from Leonardo Da Vinci, their “simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.” Ever since, the white rose was promoted to, and has remained, my favorite flower.

What do I think this says about me? Am I simple? Basic? Pretentious? It’s difficult to think of myself as elegant, but perhaps on another timeline, or into the depths of the future, I could see myself as sophisticated.

Over the past month, I’ve felt both an expansion in my being and an intense, soul-grating-contraction. My levels of self-awareness have struggled to keep up with the changing tides, and my delayed processing caused stretches of hopelessness that I have not been able to articulate, let alone identify, until salty tears slipped out from the vault, and my body demanded I get horizontal.

After I started reading Women Who Run With The Wolves, I felt an immediate connection to a “wiser” part of myself, which was recognized and celebrated in my mind/body/spirit connection. I felt shackles of self-limiting-beliefs start to break free. I felt myself reaching towards the version of me that I daydream of on my best day. Confident, healthy, happy, loved. I felt that I stepped into her shoes for a few days. Walked around in her skin…
During this time, other people felt this shift in me, too. My husband bought me flowers unprompted, and remembered to get the white roses. On another occasion, we went to our local coffee spot and on my way inside, both of the double doors were opened before me- creating what felt like a portal, and the older gentleman holding the handle announced, “You’re the Queen! You need both doors held open…”

…and I immediately wanted to disappear into the pavement.

Contrary to astrology, where my sun sign has been smear-campaigned as “loves to be the center of attention,” and “in the spotlight,” I have spent the majority of my life sticking to the sidelines - redirecting attention towards others. I’ve been described as “best supporting actress” and “a great cheerleader”. I typically find a way to show up as a background character, and leap at opportunities to take myself off center stage.

I realize how my writing a personal newsletter with stories of my life and the emotions experienced throughout it contradicts my previous paragraph. Nobody forced me to heal out loud. To that, I would agree, and say that I’m finally starting to emerge from my shell, and writing has been the vehicle through which I feel I can express my “true colors.”

Following the royal double door moment, I felt myself stumble backwards in my bubble of New Me. I contracted my spirit to be smaller, wound more tightly than I have in decades. I shamed myself for feeling as though I mattered. I shamed myself for pursuing writing. I shamed my daydreams, and I shamed my pride around the “growth” I had thought I experienced just a few moments prior.

In this regression, I felt drawn to revisit books from my coming-of-age years.

Sometimes the universe speaks to me through the books I’ve read, or need to. Both an internal and seemingly external pull guides me to my bookshelves, and a knowing comes over me when selecting what to read. I was drawn back to a book I’ve cherished. A book I’ve gifted. A book I’ve loaned and never had to ask to be returned because everyone who has borrowed it has found a creative and loving way to return it to my care. A book that has been waiting in a vault of heartache, for the right time to recapture my attention.

In a recent interview with Mindy Kaling, she was asked what her favorite style of writing is, and she said, “Epistolary.” She went on to explain that the epistolary style is writing in letters, and said she doesn’t see it very often anymore. Immediately, something clicked inside me. Mindy (again) gifted me vocabulary and a deeper understanding of myself; I too, favor epistolary writing - above all else. My mind whirred to memories of reading from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein - written in the form of letters between brother and sister- to Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us, where letters were written to Ellen Degeneres for respite and comedic relief. My letter-reading-reminiscence froze as I pulled down the book from my shelf. Glowing in my palms, a vintage lime green and poop brown softcover, was Stephen Chobotsky’s The Perks of Being A Wallflower.

Written in a series of letters to the reader, Charlie describes his high school experience in only a way fellow wallflowers can understand. He takes his arm and wraps it around his audience while also providing the best mix-tapes, book recommendations, and descriptions of teenage angst that I have yet to encounter in any other form of literature.

Revisiting Charlie’s story as an adult felt bittersweet. The plot twists didn’t quite sting as badly, but they did surface memories of my own high school existence - which triggered another reclusive episode for me, something quite tricky to manage when cohabitating with the boys.

Sometimes, the books I’m reading speak to each other - or they speak to me through one another. While I was re-reading Perks, I was reminded of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, another high school novel I felt I needed to revisit. I learned in poetry class studying W.S. Merwin that Plath had met Merwin back in the 50s, and she was enamored. While Merwin never documented this in his own writings, his wife at the time did, and she also noted that Merwin never returned Plath’s enthusiasm for her or her writing. Perhaps he sensed existential dread?

Rereading The Bell Jar now, the message being whispered across both books into my being is to participate. To abandon the shadows of backstage and take up space with those I cheer on from the sidelines. Not simply to be the reader of letters, but to write them.

As I allow my petals to expand in a new season of blooming, I look at the world with fresh eyes. How I felt as a young adult, while also understanding more of how I made others feel. The domino effect of my presence in both homes I was raised in. The emotions my parents, grandparents, and extended family and friends must have felt- trying to nudge me into participating when I didn’t know how, and refused to be taught. I am slowly starting to see, and I appreciate everyone who has held me close throughout my life and evolution - special thanks to those who have allowed me the grace to go at my own pace.

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As I was debating whether to publish this reflection about participation and visibility, violence entered our own community in a way that reframed the entire piece.

On Monday, May 18, 2026, our local mosque here in San Diego suffered a hate crime. Three men lost their lives protecting the many children, teachers, and worshippers inside. My husband was on his way to pray Duhr (the second prayer of five) at this very mosque at the time of the shooting. Learning that he was safe felt surreal; my family and our community are still processing the effect of the Islamophobic violence that took place in our city this week.

My act of participation through this time is to stand in solidarity with my husband. We have donated to the fundraiser supporting the families of the three men who sacrificed themselves, and have taken time to connect with others impacted.

While this crime made it to the New York Times, I’m saddened (but not surprised) that it did not get more media coverage. Many people around California did not know what happened, and still don’t. I’d like to invite you to participate with me by sharing through media, taking a moment to say a silent prayer, or making a financial donation to the families of Amin Abdullah, Nader Awad, and Mansour Kaziha.

Click Here to Support the Families of the Islamic Center of San Diego

May peace & blessings be upon us all,

xX kaylen alexandra Xx