The Inner Work vs. The Outer Work

The Year I Moved to an Island and Became a Hypnotherapist

Mar 09, 2025

The Inner Work vs. The Outer Work

I have spent years doing deep inner work.

I have processed my childhood, my differences, my struggles with self-acceptance. I have read more books than I can count, attended countless courses, and explored every possible way to heal and grow.

One of the most intense periods of inner work in my life happened in 2013-2014 when I trained as a hypnotherapist. It was a year of confronting my shadows, facing everything I had buried, and processing it in a way I never had before.

And when that work was done, something shifted.

I left the relationship I was in at the time. I packed up my life and moved with my not-yet-two-year-old son to an island in the middle of the sea, to stay with a friend.

That year was one of the most transformative of my life.

I studied.

I built my business as a therapist from scratch.

I worked odd jobs—building terraces, chopping wood, fishing.

I was no builder, but I learned. And through that learning, I earned enough to create a life for us.

A year later, I left the island. I found a home, stabilized my business, and built a foundation for myself and my son.

Then I met my husband.

Less than a year after that, we had our first child together and moved into the house I live in now.

For the past decade, I have continued to do inner work. But when I sit and reflect, I realize something:

Sometimes, it’s the outer work that moves you forward.

It’s the risks you take. The tangible, practical steps. The way you throw yourself into something unfamiliar and figure it out as you go.

That’s what I’m doing now.

I am stepping forward.

I am making decisions.

I am taking action—while reflecting along the way.

That is what my Substack is for.

To take real steps. And to document them.

Not just the thoughts.

Not just the healing.

But the movement.

Because inner work alone is not enough.

At some point, you have to step out into the world and build something.

But here I am again, standing in the rubble, forced to rebuild.

What didn’t I learn the first time?

How did I end up back here, repeating the same cycle, having to start over from nothing?

And maybe the hardest question of all:

What did Charlotte see that I didn’t?

Charlotte was my best friend during that time. She was more than a friend—she was like a sister. She lived in Sweden, where I studied, and she supported me through everything. She was my rock.

Years later, after I had met my husband and started my new life, she came to visit us. It was supposed to be a reunion, something joyful.

But the visit was terrible. We walked on eggshells, we annoyed each other, nothing felt right.

And when she left, it took a long time before we spoke again.

Then, when we finally did, she told me something I wasn’t ready to hear.

She told me I needed to leave my husband.

She told me he was draining all the joy from me and Henry.

That if I couldn’t do it for myself, I needed to do it for my son.

She told me she didn’t like my husband, that he was taking all my energy.

And I was furious.

I was hurt.

I cut her off.

Because I didn’t see what she saw.