On October 13, 2012, my friend Debra Allen was shot and killed by her husband.

There are some moments in life that divide everything into before and after. That was one of mine.

I remember the day vividly. I remember the fear, the confusion, and the instinct that told me to run. I listened, and I ran.

What followed was a journey I never would have chosen.

For years, I struggled with anxiety, panic, and what I now understand was complex PTSD. My nervous system seemed to have a mind of its own. I startled easily. I struggled with sleep. Closed doors made me uncomfortable. Fear followed me into places where I should have felt safe.

And the losses didn’t stop with Debra.

Six weeks after her death, our vice principal, Dre, died of sudden heart failure. There was no known cause. He was a healthy guy, and his death came as a shock to everyone.

Then, six months later, a student died of sudden heart failure, too.

Three devastating losses in one school year. It was, quite honestly, the school year from hell.

I don’t think you can experience that much death and trauma without it changing you. I certainly wasn’t the same person afterward.

For a long time, I just wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to sleep peacefully, stop being so easily startled, and walk through life without feeling as though danger was lurking around every corner.

I spent three years in talk therapy, trying to find my way back to myself. And while I gained some understanding, something still wasn’t shifting.

Then I discovered EFT, or tapping.

And something began to change.

For the first time in seven years, I felt like I could breathe again.

I began to understand that healing wasn’t about forgetting what happened or pretending it hadn’t affected me. It was about helping my body and mind recognize that I was no longer living in that moment. I could learn new ways to respond. I could find tools that helped me navigate the waves when they came.

And slowly, I began to find myself again.

Looking back, I’ve sometimes described this experience as a gift wrapped in poop.

Let’s be clear. I would never call Debra’s death a gift. I would give anything for her to still be here. No lesson, personal growth, or business could ever make what happened to her worthwhile.

But the journey that followed, the one I never asked for, eventually led me to tools, understanding, and a deeper compassion for people who are struggling in ways others can’t see.

It led me to EFT. It led me to Biofield Tuning. It led me to a much deeper understanding of how stress and trauma can affect us, and how important it is to have support and tools that meet us where we are.

And eventually, it led me to Kamiyah Coaching.

Today, I get to walk alongside people who are feeling overwhelmed, anxious, stuck, or simply exhausted from trying to hold everything together. I get to share tools that they can use in the moments when life feels like too much.

I know what it’s like to wonder if you’ll ever feel like yourself again.

I know what it’s like to look fine on the outside while your insides are doing cartwheels of panic.

And I know that healing is possible, even when you can’t yet imagine what it might look like.

October 13 will always carry sadness for me. I remember Debra. I remember Dre. I remember that student. I remember a year filled with far too much grief.

But I also remember the woman I was before, the woman who struggled for years afterward, and the woman I’ve become through the healing journey.

I’m still learning. I’m still growing. And I’m deeply grateful for the tools that helped me find my way forward.

If you’re walking through something difficult right now, I want you to know this: you don’t have to find the silver lining today. You don’t have to turn your pain into a lesson or make sense of everything that has happened.

Sometimes, the first step is simply getting through the day.

And sometimes, much later, you look back and realize that even though you would never have chosen the road, it led you somewhere you couldn’t have imagined.

That, for me, is the strange and beautiful thing about a gift wrapped in poop.

With love and hope,

Beth Chisholm
Kamiyah Coaching
Where Healing Begins and Hope Returns.