What if being human isn’t something we’re supposed to fix?

Lately, I’ve been sitting with something I keep coming back to.

What if we’ve been treating the human experience like a problem to solve
instead of an experience to live?

We track our habits, hack our brains, optimize our mornings,
stack our supplements, regulate our nervous systems...
all in pursuit of “feeling better.”
And yet…

We still lose it on a random Tuesday when the coffee spills.
We still ache when someone else’s life looks like what we thought ours would be.
We still question our worth when the momentum slows.

That’s what this week has been for me.

Not a breakdown. Not a breakthrough.
Just… life. Being witnessed.

I’ve been watching my husband sit in a space that has no clear label.
He’s not in crisis. He’s not at rock bottom.
But he’s definitely not okay.

From the outside, our life looks “good.”
No debt. Retired from the fire department.
He left the Marines when our son was born.
We live on an island. We’re not struggling by any means.

But inside? His thoughts don’t always match reality.

He’s spent this year chasing something new,
not because he wants to, but because sitting in stillness
feels like suffocating.

He’s a doer. A fixer. A planner.
And right now, nothing is happening.
His career is transitioning. Crypto’s been shit.
He’s questioning everything
including himself.

He feels like a failure.
Like he missed something.
Like maybe it’s never going to “click” again.

And as his wife, I can see it.

I see the stories eating him alive.
The ones that say:
“I’ve done everything right, why do I still feel this way?”
“If I don’t have a purpose, what am I even doing?”

And the truth is
I can’t fix it for him.
I can’t make him feel at peace.
I can’t make the stories stop.
All I can do is love him and keep building what I know is needed.

Because I know he’s not the only one.

Most people never talk about this part.
This weird blurry middle.
Where you’ve done so much work
and still feel like something’s missing.
Where you’re not in danger, but not okay either.
Where the momentum stalls and you start to doubt everything you’ve built.

That’s what I’m building Remeria for.

Not just the healed.
Not just the broken.
But the space in between.

Because most people don’t need another fix.
They need a place to be human without shame.
To stop pretending.
To stop optimizing.

To stop trying to solve the problem of being human. That’s the heart of it.

No one taught us how to just be. But maybe we can learn it together.

Danielle