Tatiana Chisolm

The day I got my first solo apartment changed everything.

I grew up in the Bronx—aka NYC—which was always loud, colorful, and full of life. But behind that energy, my own childhood was filled with heavy experiences: surviving cancer, facing periods of homelessness, and carrying emotional weight far too big for my small frame. For years, I never had the chance to let my nervous system slow down, breathe, and process any of it.

I was always surviving—never just being.

That all shifted the day I moved into my own apartment. It was small, barely decorated, and not in the “best” part of town—but it was mine. For the first time, I had space to sit with myself. In the silence of that apartment, without outside pressure or judgment, I began to ask myself: What do I really want? What kind of life am I meant to build—not for anyone else, but for me?

Just before the pandemic hit, I cut off everyone. Friends, family—anyone who added noise to my mind or didn’t feel aligned with my healing. And then the world shut down. No one came knocking. I had full permission to disappear and figure out who I actually was.

At first, it was freeing. I didn’t have to perform anymore. I explored what I liked—how I wanted to dress (even with nowhere to go), what I liked to eat, what I enjoyed watching. It was simple, but it was spiritual. For the first time, I wasn’t being influenced. I was just me.

For the first time, I wasn’t being influenced. I was just me.

I started posting funny videos on TikTok—using sounds from old animated shows I loved. It felt like being a kid again. No rules, no performance. Just joy. But over time, the isolation and ease of getting dopamine on demand started to catch up with me. I noticed how easy it was to numb, scroll, and avoid. So I made a new decision: if I got the chance to truly live life on my terms, I wouldn’t waste it.

That’s when the vision of travel came to me. I wanted to explore the world, connect with people, experience things beyond survival. I wanted a life that felt expansive, not just safe.

Now, at 29, I’ve done just that. I’ve traveled across Africa, Europe, South America, and throughout North America. I’ve had life-changing experiences, conversations that cracked me open, and moments that redefined what I thought life could be.

I’m now a certified health, wellness, and mindset coach—but not the polished, cookie-cutter kind. I’m Bronx-raised, grounded, and real. I share my gym journey, mindset tools, and health tips, but I also just like to make people laugh.

Humor has always been one of my most powerful healing tools.

Most importantly, I’ve created a space called Spice Girlz—a community for neurodivergent women like me who are tired of masking and just want to be their full, chaotic, brilliant selves. We talk about the hard stuff, celebrate the weird stuff, and create spaces where healing can happen without shame.

And after all the space, the silence, the isolation—I’m no longer alone. My friendships came back. The people who truly love and understand me, the ones who grew with me, returned to my life. And this time, the connections feel deeper, more real. I’ve got soul-nourishing friendships I can trust and lean on.

I’m married to my best friend, have rebuilt meaningful relationships with my family, and finally feel at peace.

I’m not chasing perfection anymore. I’m just living—authentically and unapologetically.

Meditation, ancestral healing, and reconnecting to my roots as an Afro-Latina woman have been the biggest gifts of my life. I know now that I’m not just healing for myself—I’m healing for the generations before and after me.

The moment I got my first solo apartment? That was the start of it all. That was the moment I stopped surviving and started building a life that actually felt like mine.

I’m grateful. I’m grounded. I’m surrounded by love.

And I hope that anyone reading this knows it’s never too late to start again, to choose yourself, and to build a life that finally makes sense to you.

Know more about Tatiana‘s healing journey @Yung_flan