“You must learn a new way to think before you can master a new way to be.”

— Marianne Williamson

The last blog post that wasn’t related to my book was on March 25, 2025—the empathy debate. Most of my mornings have been dedicated to working on The Son of Man & Its Mystical Awakening. What started as a blog post on 1 Corinthians 15 morphed into a monster of a manuscript. And once the book had an ending, I had another one of those “Oh crap! I need to grow up more!” moments.

Most of my older blog posts here were working through personal reflections. But it’s gotten a little quiet on the Drunk Pastor digital front. The Existential Hangover newsletter is overdue (I’m working on it!). The book took nearly all the time I had to give. But life? It’s been loud. Relentlessly so.

Since Drunk Pastor has spent the better part of a year reframing eschatology and atonement, let’s flip the lens and start at the other end—what I’ve learned while writing The Son of Man & Its Mystic Awakening.

Recovery & Mental Health: A Year of Shedding Skins

My four years is coming up. The hospital visit from my last relapse is still vivid, but it’s lost its sting—like an old scar I don’t have to hide anymore. Some days feel like a blink. Others feel like crawling through molasses with a backpack full of regret. I’ve been making a couple of AA meetings a week to my new homegroup, sometimes popping into the Missoula Group downtown. Solid people. Still standing.

Ego death didn’t end with the bottom—it began there and worked up. Since Easter 2024, when I bent the knee for real and said, “Alright, Jesus, let’s do this,” I’ve been hungry for serenity. Not fireworks—just the internal peace. I’ve had moments. Epiphanies. Sabbath. Awakenings. A moment where I knew—truly knew—I was seen by God. Like the jig was up. These weren’t angelic visitations or white light theatrics. They were the multiple, personal revelations you can’t manufacture and couldn’t explain to anyone else. These are some of the “white light” moments AA refers to. And they only made sense to me because I was the main actor in the long story that needed to die. That’s just how it rolls.

Before 2024, I was a dead man walking in fake skin. Snake skins shed—it’s ironic that the Chinese year of the snake was not what I envisioned. Old selves buried—not in theory, but through practice. Prayer, ritual, fasting, breathwork, journaling. A thousand quiet crucifixions, not for public display, but for private freedom.

Work, Structure, and the Ghost of the Pastor

Sitting at a desk sounds simple. It wasn’t. Without a boss, I had to face the resistance, the avoidance, the fear of ruining it all again. That inner critic still lurks, but it doesn’t run the show anymore.

There was financial shame—deep, sticky shame. I used to be reckless with money, mine and others’. So I got a business coach. Then a financial coach. It was uncomfortable. Embarrassing. Worth it. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m not spiraling anymore. That matters.

The time management arc? Chaotic. From burnout to obsession and back again. But I’ve grown. Planners, boundaries, apologizing, accountability, and saying no. I’ve fumbled with clients, sure. But I’ve delivered, learned, and grown. That’s not just professional evolution—it’s spiritual work.

What I do now—curriculum development, project management, content creation, suicide prevention, consulting, authentic marketing, coaching, training—it feels like ministry again. The parts I loved and was good at. No collar, no stage, no safety net. Just real people. Real needs. Real work.

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

— Eleanor Roosevelt

Vicarious Living, Projected Selves, and the Gospel of Burnout

There’s a term I’ve been formulating: Vicarious Living, or Projective Identity. It’s when we place our sense of self in how we’re perceived, how we influence others, or what kind of status equilibrium we can maintain. It’s a spectrum—from silent submission in toxic relationships to aggressive control in parenting, pulpits, and politics. It’s where we hid behind our work and the labels we find identity in, rather than authentically believing in what we do for the sake of doing it.

I was the king of this. My impostor syndrome was so thick it doubled as a personality. When I got tapped to plant a church, I knew I’d crumble. And I did. My spiral wrecked lives.

So, when I relaunched Stigma M&D in 2024, I knew I wasn’t just back in a familiar setting—I was dragging a mountain of burnt bridges and wreckage behind me. No backup plan. No team. Just me. Doing the real work. Confronting my patterns and wrestling them into something more honest. That’s been the spiritual practice. My tent-making. My daily confrontation with who I’ve been and who I’m becoming.

And weirdly? It’s working. I’ve edited and developed materials on radical acceptance, mindfulness, and burnout. I’ve partnered with nonprofits, been invited into business networks, consulted with other professionals, and was invited to be part of a city board. The overlap between past ministry and present consulting was dizzying—but healing. And real. Sometimes fun.

Every Human’s Journey: From Idea to Invitation

Every Human’s Journey isn’t just an idea on a whiteboard. It went through a beta group, group review, editing, consulting, and assessment creation. Now, I’ve finished the first full version of the workbook and launched the first test phase. I’m actively looking for organizations and individuals to test it—especially now that I have a finished workbook available for purchase. The journal is next when I have the capacity to work on it. If you’re interested in testing it yourself with a small group of your peers, check out the website and apply.

EHJ and suicide prevention training aren’t just services—they’re two tools that speak to every human. They’re the developmental spine of Stigma M&D. They cross demographics, roles, faiths, and wounds. That’s the point. They meet people where it matters.

And they’re not hype. Last year, I had nothing. Now I have real tools, a business model and services, an actual foundation, and clear momentum. Two decades and three different school experiences, a lifetime of being curious and learning, shoved into an upside-down marketing and development company. When paired with having a book nearing completion, it’s been one hell of a year.

Missoula, Community, and Finding My Name Again

Being in Missoula again has stretched me. It’s anxious, creative, political, and beautiful. We held a suicide prevention event with a Bozeman nonprofit and a Missoula advocate, bringing together salons, dispensaries, nonprofits, and family service organizations. Twelve community leaders. That event helped me remember: I’m still here. I’m still needed. This path still matters.

EHJ, personal and organizational development, leadership, and suicide prevention have become developmental spines of Stigma M&D. They’re not just content—they’re the bones and pulse. They’re conceptual bridges that prove marketing and business work with authenticity, mental health is universal, and we’re all human. These were something I was searching for, and I thank God He brought me to them. Now, it’s about getting them down and fleshed out.

“The psychotic drowns in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.”

— Joseph Campbell

Entrepreneurship: A Dog and a Car

It took six months for the switch to flip. For months, it felt like I was faking it. I struggled calling myself a business owner or even referring to Stigma as a business. In the meantime, I was helping other successful business owners and professionals, using my MBA education and creating pitch decks and scribbling endless revisions of my business model. Then, one day, it changed. I wasn’t “trying” to be an entrepreneur—I was one. Not a perfect one. But a decent one. One with value. With a niche. With something real to offer.

That realization mattered. It wasn’t that I was suddenly something, but that I could do something. I not only had a business, but had more ideas and things I wanted to do. From suicide prevention curricula and group leadership tools to a fly fishing brand and a local “Missoula Munchies” project. Creativity became an issue. Embracing, managing, and channeling it wisely has taken a little work.

Mood, Focus, and Stabilizing

This part’s better now. Not perfect. Still turbulent at times. But better. I’m off all prescriptions. My blood pressure and cholesterol are normal. I run again. I journal. I breathe. I eat one dessert a day—don’t judge me.

I’ve been consistent with my personal development and the same tools I teach and have helped develop content for: breathwork, radical acceptance, mindfulness, embracing discomfort, and reducing dopamine spikes. I’ve kept up with medical appointments. I track symptoms. I show up.

Spirituality: Practice, Not Performance

I wanted this post to be all about spirituality. But this needed to come first.

That said—my spiritual life is deeper, wider, and more integrated than ever. Things can be heavy sometimes, and I can really feel things. For about nine months, I’ve been exploring shamanism, learning breathwork and mentalization practices from traditions that surprisingly helped me understand Jesus in more visceral ways. Not in worship songs (actually, it has dramatically affected my worship experience) or altar calls—but in the Good Food Store. In the shower. In my morning sage burning, prayer, journaling, and studying. In impromptu dancing. In silence. In weeping. In laughing. In the daily grind.

“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”

— Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto I

This journey with Jesus, ego-death, and discipleship—Reality is becoming richer, interconnected, beautiful, and alive. I’ve learned more about myself than I care to admit, and, while it’s slowed down, it’s been a whole different kind of journey than where I was last year.

Christian mysticism and mystical practice? They echo shamanism. And shamanism overlaps with Buddhism. These paths aren’t identical, but they rhyme. Jesus was a shaman. Much of the same lessons found in shamanism point to the same Truth Christ proclaimed. I have met the coming of the son of man in my secret and mystery places, in the profound confrontation of my ego and sin, in the light of forgiveness and renewal, in the promise of new life and the potential of love. And it came through study, honesty, suffering, and stupid breathing practices from a Peruvian shamanism book that made my feet tingle (still does).

More on that soon.

Thanks for reading and walking with me.

—Paule