Now, in January 2026, it does.

That morning, as I rushed out of the house to get to breathwork, my amethyst bracelet snapped.
No warning. No tension. Just a quiet pop:

beads scattering across the floor like seeds being released.

This wasn’t just any bracelet.

I had bought it on my first solo day in Ireland, a woman wandering the streets of Dublin, newly forty, newly untethered, carrying unresolved things back home. At one point, I became aware of a man following me. Every shop I entered, he appeared again. My intuition nudged me: pause.

Before heading back to my hostel, I ducked into a small shop next door. It turned out to be a crystal store. I picked up this amethyst bracelet without overthinking it and when I stepped back outside, the man was gone. I walked back safely, grounded, protected.

Three months later, that same bracelet broke.

By then, everything had changed. I had returned home. Divorce was no longer pending, it was finalized. The emotional loose ends I had been carrying quietly were demanding to be felt.

That breathwork session became one of the most intense I’ve ever experienced.

I cried, not politely, not quietly, but deeply.
The kind of crying that moves through bone and breath and memory.
I grieved the friendship and the future I once envisioned.
I let go of the love I thought was eternal, the dreams we built, and the version of myself that was still waiting for closure.

And then something unexpected happened.

As I lay on my side, arms wrapped around myself, I felt a warmth at my back — a presence.

Familiar. Gentle. Steady.

I like to believe it was the person I once fell in love with (not who he became) but who he was. Or maybe it was my higher self, showing up in a form my heart could recognize, whispering:

You’re safe.
You’re supported.
You can let go now.

Spiritually, amethyst is known as a stone of purification, protection, and clarity. When it breaks, many believe it means the stone has completed its work, it has absorbed what it needed to, shielded what it could, and is no longer required to hold what you’re ready to carry on your own.

And that feels exactly right.

The bracelet didn’t break on me.
It broke for me.

To make space.
To mark the end of holding on.

That day, breathwork became a ceremony of release.
And the amethyst? A quiet witness to transformation.

This post is going live now — four months later — because those beads have remained scattered across my bedroom floor all this time.

Silent. Still. Protective. Waiting.

And now, I’m ready.

It’s time to let go of fear and build out loud.

From here on, this blog will continue to share not only my healing, but my journey as a founder as I build LotiBloom, grounded in intention, science, and self-trust.

Thank you for being here as this next chapter begins. 💜