Episode 6: The Crack in the Foundation

“When I published my first book and saw my heart on paper, I realized a terrible truth: my life did not resemble the love of the two people who adopted me. It was all just an illusion.”

— Magma Star

In geology, the most powerful force is not an earthquake, but slow erosion—water entering the tiniest capillaries of a rock and slowly expanding it from the inside. My capillary was poetry. I started writing, not knowing I was expelling a sediment of sorrow that had been gathering for decades.

During those years, the world was flooded with messages of awakening—Oprah, Wayne Dyer, Louise Hay. Their voices were like the sun melting the ice on my Vancouver window. At 44, an age when many think it is too late for new beginnings, I decided I could no longer live a lie.

The decision was radical. We put our hard-earned house up for sale. Even though I had invested more into it, I told him: “You can keep everything.”

I left the furniture, the memories, everything material, just to save my soul. I moved into an empty, rented apartment, carrying only the hope that my children would be with me on weekends.

But rocks do not break silently. He used the children as a shield, poisoning their hearts with the story that I was “crazy” and guilty of breaking up the family. My children, my only anchor, stopped coming. That feeling of abandonment was more devastating than any financial loss.

After five months of loneliness in that empty apartment, my body began to respond to that terrible emotional pressure. The sorrow I could no longer transform into poetry turned into illness. My internal structure collapsed.