Nicole Christie | The Power of Choosing Yourself
In the premiere episode of Season 5, Nicole opens up about her journey of choosing herself and living with purpose, not just because trauma forced her to do so, but because it’s what’s right for her. She shares how recent experiences—from moving cities to a sudden health scare—have shaped what it means to be here for herself. Nicole also emphasizes that living purposefully isn't always about grand life-changing moments, but that it can simply be about living authentically, which also requires immense courage and patience.
Show Notes:
What is a tower moment?
Learn about retinal lattice degeneration
Why are horseshoes considered lucky?
Connect with Nicole on Instagram
Connect with Nicole—and watch this episode—on YouTube
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[00:00:00] Nicole Christie: Welcome to Here For Me, a podcast about the power of choosing yourself. I'm Nicole Christie, and I'm honored you're joining me as we talk about how life teaches us to put ourselves first. Because just as we say, I'm here for you to show we care for someone, saying I'm here for me to ourselves is the best form of self care.
We're embarking on this new season of Here For Me after a summer hiatus during which I thought a lot about the stories we've told so far, and what's next for us.
I've felt pulled to create something lighter, something more hopeful, more buoyant, at a time when so much feels so heavy for so many of us.
Perhaps it has to do with my own process of letting go. As I shared in last season's finale, my move from San Diego to Los Angeles was a release of five years of trauma, tests, and tower moments. The corresponding weightlessness feels like a closed door to examining lessons learned through life's dark moments.
Much of what we covered in our first four seasons has been trauma informed: brushes with mortality, abuse, addiction, awakenings. Our guests have told stories of learning to choose themselves because life delivered an “or else.”
But over the last few months, I got to thinking about those who choose themselves without a big wake-up call, who instead wake up one day and realize self abandonment is getting them nowhere.
Those who believe they're here for a greater purpose. One they shied away from, in favor of a life others wanted for them. A purpose that started to scream so loudly for center stage, it could no longer be pushed into the wings.
This season we're going to hear more from these people. The ones who bet on themselves, stepped fully into who they are, who they were born to be, and claimed who they would become.
The ones who made choices we all have available to us, if we're brave enough to walk the path less traveled. To risk being misunderstood, to risk being alone, because isolation is better than being loved for something we're not.
We'll always hear from people who have survived the seemingly insurmountable. But this season, we'll hear more from those who chose the mountains they climbed. Because all of us can say, "I may not have been handed an inferno to traverse, but it doesn't mean there isn't more for me in this lifetime."
The concept of more, of purpose, of calling, of alignment with what's meant for us, is a frequent topic of discourse. It's the thing you can't stop thinking about, even if you've distracted yourself from it, with work, and family, and socializing, and the mundanity of earthly life. It's the thing that pops into your brain in quiet moments, moments that are probably all too rare, because if they weren't, you'd have to think about that thing a lot more. Unpack it, examine it, question it, and all your life choices.
If you're a spiritual sort, as I am, perhaps you believe all souls incarnate for a reason, and that we choose that reason as part of our soul contract. I've heard that human incarnation is the best way to clear karma from previous lifetimes, which makes me wonder if earth is actually hell.
But I find the idea of intentional incarnation helpful, as it offers some degree of explanation as to why some people suffer tremendous hardship and others walk a simpler, easier life path. The concept of soul contracts says we incarnate knowing exactly what lies ahead of us, that we choose the people we'll align with in a lifetime, and the experiences we'll have, the joys, celebrations, tragedies, and traumas.
I once read that some souls incarnate purely to be on vacation, as recovery from a torturous lifetime, while others, often the oldest souls, sign up for intense trauma to clear centuries of karma. The thing with callings, with the concept of purpose, is that we live in a world that equates this with epic. That our existence is meaningless unless it brings fame or wealth or accolades. That a purpose has to be seen and heard and transformative for yourself, for others, for the world at large.
But actually, it doesn't. It can be as simple as being true to yourself. Living without fear of ridicule or rejection, living by your own light and not seeking others to illuminate you. Keeping your gaze on what's right in front of you as you climb that mountain, foothold by foothold, focusing on your grip, making sure you have the equipment you need. And using it to keep yourself going, rather than tossing it to others in the spirit of nobility, and finding yourself hanging on with bare, sweating hands.
But walking that path, climbing that mountain, requires courage and patience. Taking those first bold, brave steps will bring an initial rush. People will be in awe of your courage, and it feels affirming. You'll often experience beginner's luck to keep you headed in the right direction. But over time, it turns into a hazy route of doubt and uncertainty and minimal returns.
Yet it doesn't mean you're going the wrong way. It means, how long can you withstand this? How badly do you want what's aligned for you? And how much are you willing to lose—friends, money, tangible progress—to get it?
It means believing in yourself because there will be very little else to assure you this is the right way, yet that's exactly why it is. This isn't the first time I've embarked on my current path, the one that calls me, that feels purposeful and aligned. But every other time I'd experience those quick wins, then find myself enveloped in silence and darkness, smashing my face into closed doors and brick walls.
I'd assume that was a sign the path wasn't for me, and I'd go back to what was familiar. Because familiar feels good. It feels easy. It feels comfortable. The isolation and uncertainty and financial woes of following what called me, of walking my path alone, would be replaced by cushy salaries and predictable promotions, and the comfort of a well-paved path.
But of course, it's well-paved, because so many people walk it. And if something is for everyone, it's for no one. Yet, nothing we do is truly done alone. Nearly everything in life is transactional, requiring a yes, a no, a push of a button, a turn of a key, a door opened to opportunity, to shelter, to what's next. A door closed on what's no longer.
I believe being here for ourselves is the foundation, and being here with others, in love, friendship, community, joy is how we lay the bricks, the windows, the walls, the doors of the life our soul agreed to live.
I was reminded of this over the summer when I was at brunch with a friend and suddenly found myself looking at her through a black circle in the center of my vision. As an ocular cancer survivor and someone whose retinas have —unrelatedly—been degenerating for 25 years, requiring dozens of reparative laser surgeries, this is a bad sign. One that, if it's bad enough, can render me blind.
It's also a sign that I can't be here for me in every way. I can't drive myself to the ER with impaired vision, and I can't drive home alone at 12:30 in the morning after laser surgery that makes every streetlight look like a fireworks show.
Instead, I have to lean on others. A friend who dropped everything to be by my side that night, who drove me to the ER, and then to the surgical center, and then home, keeping me company for eight hours straight. A retina specialist who came in at 10:30 on a Saturday night, to repair a retinal tear in the shape of a horseshoe, which continues to be what I see while I heal. I also had to lean on, forgive the pun, blind faith. Much like walking that dark path toward what's calling us, all I can do is keep going, one foot in front of the other, eyes, however poorly focused, straight ahead.
But there's an ironic glimmer of hope, for now, and possibly forever, I will see everything through that tiny horseshoe, a universal symbol of luck. I can choose to see it as a scar, a sign that I'm destined to lose my sight, which isn't out of the realm of possibility. Or I can choose to see it as a sign that I haven't lost sight of the path that's meant for me. And that luck, quite literally, is right in front of my eyes.
I hope you don't wait to experience tragedy and trauma to choose yourself. I hope you don't neglect to do so because your calling, your purpose is gentle and quiet instead of lofty and looming. I hope you choose yourself if not doing so has left you numb or wanting to be. I hope you choose yourself when the price of walking the well trodden path is self abandonment and you can't afford it. I hope you choose yourself when the fear of “what if I do” is less daunting than “what if I don't.” I hope you choose yourself when regret feels worse than risk. When losing yourself feels worse than losing anything material, any external validation, any sign that you're loved for what you have and what you do, rather than who you are.
E. E. Cummings said, "To be nobody but yourself, in a world that's doing its best to make you like everyone else, is the hardest battle any human can fight. Never stop fighting."
We live in a world where it feels like we're always fighting anyway. A world where shit happens to test our perseverance, where we walk through fires to test our resilience.
If we're going to fight for something, we might as well fight for ourselves. For what's within us, what calls us, what our soul came into this world to do.
Welcome to a new season—filled with hope and promise—of Here For Me.
This episode of Here For Me was produced by Tulla Productions. My deepest gratitude goes out to our editors, Tonya Peat and J.D. Delgado, our production assistant, Sarah Carefoot, and designer and illustrator, Amy Senftleben.
If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love it if you'd follow the show, rate, review, and share it with people you love. You can also follow me on Instagram and YouTube at nicolejchristie and find show notes and transcripts for all episodes at hereformepodcast.com.
Until next time, thank you so much for listening. Here's to you being here for you…and to the power of choosing yourself.