As I begin writing these lines, I'm sitting on Réka and Csaba's terrace. From here, the sea stretches out before me, constantly changing its shades of blue and green. In the stillness, I can hear nothing but the gentle rhythm of the waves reaching the shore.
Thanks to dear friends of mine, this is the sixth summer I've spent my holiday here—mostly on this terrace... well, and down by the sea. Although I usually wait until late afternoon before going to the beach - fair skin and blonde hair don't make the best companions under the Mediterranean sun.
Looking back, this past six months have been incredibly productive. On paper, that sounds wonderful. In reality, however, there comes a moment when dedication quietly turns into overload—and you hardly notice when it happens. By June, almost every evening was filled with teaching, leading meditation sessions, or examining our students. And on the rare evenings when none of those were scheduled, we simply looked at our ever-growing to-do list and asked ourselves what still needed to be done.
It reached the point where, just before the holiday I had been looking forward to for months, I couldn't even decide whether I wanted to leave. Part of me was excited, while another part kept whispering: "Oh no... I still have to finish this... and that... and one more thing…" Eventually, I even started wondering whether I still had the energy to drive that far.
How did we end up here again? Last year, during the final two hours of my drive, my dear friend and colleague Zsuzsi (Ráth) practically kept me awake because I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. This year I thought I had learned my lesson. I jokingly told the girls that during the last two hours I would call them one after another just to stay alert. And that's exactly what happened.
Body - Soul - Spirit. These are the three dimensions we constantly talk about. They are the foundation of everything we teach, everything we encourage others to keep in balance. And yet… even we lost our balance. I could pretend otherwise, but there would be no point. Authenticity is not about appearing flawless. It is about having the courage to speak honestly about our mistakes, our limitations, and even our shadow side. Because every one of us has one. The real question is not whether we have a shadow, but what we choose to do with it. Do we surrender to it and become victims of our circumstances? Or do we notice it—that crucial first step without which no change is possible—and begin the slow, deliberate work of transforming lead into gold? For me, that means stepping off the endless hamster wheel. It means saying "yes" to myself, while learning to say "no" to the temptations that quietly creep into my life. One of those temptations is especially familiar during holidays: "It's only one small task…" "It will only take a few minutes…" "This one is really urgent…"
We all know how that story ends. And yes—it is incredibly difficult for a perfectionist to say yes to themselves. But how can someone continue giving to others when they have already given away everything they had? When the well is dry. When the batteries are empty.
Looking back, we had become like one of those old pull-back toy cars. We had wound ourselves tighter and tighter, running on the momentum we'd created long ago. Luckily… There was just enough energy left to carry us this far. To this terrace. To the sea. And perhaps… Back to ourselves.
On Sunday evening, shortly after I arrived, I unloaded the car as quickly as I could and headed straight for the sea. The sea has always held a special place in my life. It welcomes me without question. It heals me without asking anything in return. And somehow, it always invites me to dive beneath the surface—not only of the water, but of myself. One of the archetypes that lives within me is what I call the Pearl Diver. She takes a deep breath, descends into the darkest depths, and searches patiently for the hidden treasure. Sometimes the journey is painful. Sometimes the pressure feels almost unbearable. But when she finally reaches the surface and slowly opens her hand, there it is— a single pearl, glistening in the light.
I had been brave enough to make the journey. I had arrived. But what now? How would these two weeks unfold? What would happen to my endless to-do lists? What would happen to my body... my soul? Would the little wind-up car inside me continue running on sheer momentum? Or was it finally time to stop, step out, breathe, and allow myself to recover?
After my swim I returned to the terrace, opened my laptop, and checked my emails. One message was waiting for me. I had no idea that it would become the turning point of my holiday.
"Dear Zita,
I'm not entirely sure where this letter is going. I'm not even sure whether I'll be able to express everything I'm feeling.
But I know I want to share it with you. So, here it goes.
Everything begins with a question for me.
My mind is analytical, reflective, and endlessly curious.
I naturally look for patterns, question assumptions, and search for what lies beneath the surface.
Questions rarely give me immediate answers; instead, they lead me to deeper questions—and eventually, to deeper understanding.
I've learned not to rush that process.
I've also learned that letting go of the past—with honesty and without self-deception—is one of the greatest gifts I can offer both my present and my future.
More and more, I want to invest my energy in creating rather than merely serving systems that consume it. I want my strength to become something creative, supportive, and life-giving.
At first, I tend to distrust people.
Pressure doesn't motivate me—it makes me withdraw.
I've never liked being told to 'step outside your comfort zone.'
To me, that has always sounded like an order.
But when someone approaches me with genuine curiosity, patience, kindness, and respect for my own pace—without pressure, without trying to fix me—I'm willing to reach out and take their hand.
For me, that's what trust looks like.
When I truly care about someone, I do so wholeheartedly, without conditions or expectations. Sometimes love means listening. Sometimes it means speaking. Sometimes it simply means being there.
When I allow myself to be vulnerable, those relationships become deeply transformative.
And now... once again... I could thank you for everything you've taught me.
But today I want to thank you for something else. Not for the coach you are. For the human being you are.
What you've given me has changed me in ways that go far beyond knowledge. Your presence has inspired me, challenged me, helped me grow, and become part of who I am—not only intellectually, but deep within my heart.
People like you are incredibly rare. Someone whose intelligence, self-awareness, humanity, humour, wisdom, authenticity, curiosity and kindness exist in such beautiful balance.
You don't pretend to be perfect. You don't need to be.
You are simply... whole. You are yourself.
You live.
And perhaps these are only words.
But in my world, they carry something much deeper. They express genuine curiosity for another human soul.
I wish you a true retreat. May you find peace. May you have time simply to be.
May you return renewed—for yourself, for your family, and for everyone whose life you touch.
With love."
That letter stopped me in my tracks. I won't reveal whether it was written by a man or a woman. I promised I wouldn't. But I'm deeply grateful that I was given permission to share these words.
Normally, I can find words for almost anything. My work often asks me to give language to feelings that seem impossible to express—to say what others struggle to say. But this time… I couldn’t. I simply stared at the screen. I needed to sleep on it before I could answer.
When I finally replied, I realised something. The letter hadn't just touched me. It had given me permission. Permission to rest. Because resting is difficult. Feeling well is work. And yet, without rest, we eventually lose the ability to feel well at all.
If we want to remain authentic—if we truly want to serve others—we have to allow ourselves to recover first. I will always be grateful for the strength that letter gave me. The courage to stop. So that, in time, I could continue. ❤️ Because we can only give… when there is still something left to give.
The next morning, full of confidence, I walked down to the sea convinced I was ready for a long swim. Two minutes later I discovered that even a snail could probably have outswum me. I laughed out loud. "Well, my friend..." I said to myself. "Now you know just how exhausted you really are." It was time. Time to put away every list. Every email. Every phone. Every obligation. And, for once… to pay attention only to the person who needed me most. Myself.
I'm writing these final lines from my own terrace, back at home. I love this house. I love my garden. There is only one thing missing. The sea. And yet, whenever I close my eyes, I can still hear it.
Every year, on the last day of my holiday, I quietly thank the sea for welcoming me, healing me, and restoring me. This year was no different. And somehow, I already know we'll meet again.
This summer, it took me eleven days to come back to myself. Eleven days before I could truly feel my body again. My soul. My spirit. Eleven days before I dared to admit that I didn't want to do anything anymore. I simply wanted to sit on the terrace and watch the water. Eleven days before I could swim long enough to feel the endorphins returning. Eleven days before I found myself again. Eleven days before I could genuinely smile at the woman looking back at me in the mirror. Those who know my "mirror exercise" will understand exactly what I mean.
For those who don't, let me share it with you. Tomorrow morning, when you first look into the mirror, smile at yourself with genuine warmth and simply say: "Good morning. I'm so happy to see you. You look beautiful today."
And for the men: "Good morning. I'm so happy to see you. Today, you are a wise man."
It may sound surprisingly simple. But sometimes the simplest practices are the ones that change us the most. Something shifted. The endless lists no longer mattered. The unfinished tasks no longer demanded my attention. The problems suddenly seemed much smaller. Everything became lighter. Even my face looked younger. I rediscovered something I hadn't realised I had been missing. I enjoyed smiling at myself again. And I still do. I felt at home in my own company. Of course, I missed the love of my life. I missed my children. But even that longing had changed. Because I had finally become good company for myself again. The weight I had been carrying quietly slipped from my shoulders. And once again, I could hear my own soul.
There is something I've never shared publicly before. The night before the England–Argentina quarter-final, I woke up with an overwhelming certainty that the final would be Spain versus Argentina. I started watching the match, but after England scored in the second half, I simply turned off the television and went to bed. "I'll check the result tomorrow morning." When I opened the news the next day, I couldn't help but smile. Not because my prediction had come true. But because I realised something much more important. The noise inside my head had finally gone quiet. My intuition had returned. Welcome home.
In my coaching sessions—and in my archetypal astrology work—one idea comes up again and again. I truly believe that every person should spend a few days alone at least once a year.
Many people are frightened by that thought. Some cannot even imagine it. To be completely honest… Neither could I. Today, however, I believe it may be one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves. Our loved ones. And the people we serve.
Our everyday life is built on healthy routines. We begin each morning with conscious breathing. Our body welcomes fresh oxygen. Our soul welcomes the silence of our mantra. We try to nourish ourselves with good food instead of simply feeding our cravings. We practise yoga—or exercise—several times a week.mWe do our best to sleep well. But life happens. Stress arrives. Adrenaline floods the body. And suddenly one habit disappears. Then another. Sometimes several at once. Little by little… the feeling of being well simply vanishes. As we jokingly say in Hungarian: "It was still there back in Lepsény…" And yet… We worked so hard to build it.
That is the moment to stop. To create order again. To rebuild your well-being, patiently, one day at a time. That is why rest matters. Without it, we lose the ability to hear ourselves. And once we have drifted away from ourselves, finding our way back takes far more time than losing our balance ever did.
Still… There is good news. Whatever we have neglected… can be restored. Don't you think?
People often ask me why I believe solitude is so important. Because only when we are alone do we stop listening to everyone else. Instead, we begin listening to ourselves. Ironically, even when we are physically alone, our rational mind keeps talking. "You should be doing this…" "Don't forget that…" "What about next week?" The mind is remarkably creative at filling the silence. The real work is allowing the soul to slowly rise back to the surface. And that journey can only happen when we are finally willing to spend time with ourselves.
It took me three days to truly arrive on that terrace. It took me eleven days to feel well again. The days that followed… I moved through life smiling. Almost dancing.
That is why I now believe something very simple. Feeling well is not a destination. It is a daily practice. And because life inevitably pulls us away from ourselves from time to time… Rest is not a luxury. It is a necessity.
So today, I would like to leave you with one invitation. Give yourself permission. Permission to slow down. Permission to be alone. Permission to return to yourself. Because when you do… You may discover not only who you have always been— but also entirely new parts of yourself that have been quietly waiting for you all along.
With love, zita
