This story is found in our May/June 2025 issue. Subscribe to the magazine here.
They say healing takes time. I couldn’t agree more. But I’ve learned that traveling across the world doesn’t hurt the recovery process either.
You could say my late twenties took an unexpected turn. Reflecting on it from the tender age of 30, I’m grateful for the path my life has taken. But if you had asked my 22-year-old self where I thought I’d be at 27, healing at the end of an 8-year relationship wouldn’t have been something I predicted.
I was too busy falling for my best friend to consider the potential repercussions of being vulnerable—the repercussions of a whimsical, “laugh so hard my belly hurts” kind of vulnerable; what my mama called “the Bobby to my Whitney” kind of love.
I wasn’t thinking about the pain that could possibly arise on the other side of it. The “crying on the hardwood floor of the apartment you shared” kind of pain. “Taking a late-night walk in the cold because you just wanted to feel something other than numbness” kind of pain. The kind of pain and grief no one can prepare you for, because it’s uniquely your own.
When I was finally able to pick myself up off the literal and metaphorical floor, moving out of that apartment and into my own, I started to become excited about having my own space. I thought that starting fresh and being able to decorate the way I wanted would expedite the healing process. I was quite wrong.
I had forgotten that I’d spent nearly a decade with this person in New York City, much of it in our Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood. It wasn’t just the wabi-sabi–inspired, limewashed walls he had painted in the apartment—the once-Zen surfaces that eventually became suffocating to me—that I needed to get away from in order to move forward. It was the entire neighborhood and city.
Months later, I had made some progress—picking up new hobbies, leaning into therapy, going to church consistently, hanging out more with friends and family, and even going on dates. But passing our favorite spots often sent me on a downward spiral that would end in my beating myself up and asking the same old questions: Did I waste all of my twenties with the wrong person? Will I find love again? Shouldn’t I be past this already? I knew, in theory at least, that healing wasn’t linear. But in practice, I’m an impatient Aries. I needed to start completely anew.
The universe heard me loud and clear. In the fall of last year, Sulwhasoo, the legendary Korean skin care brand, invited me on a trip to Seoul, South Korea. A few select editors were asked to come and experience their spa, discover the history of the iconic brand and learn about their recent innovations. The timing of the trip made me chuckle, as it marked exactly one year from the breakup.
If I’m being honest, Seoul was the last place I thought I’d be going, especially as the destination is so far away—a 15-hour flight, to be exact—but I wasn’t mad at it at all. Aside from my deep yearning to escape Brooklyn, the music lover and DJ side of me was excited to experience the incredible record bars that the city has to offer (a special shout-out to Kompakt Record Bar, which now has my heart), while the beauty editor and lover in me was stoked to be heading to the land of K-beauty (Olive Young, essentially their version of Sephora, beckoned!). It was a no-brainer for me to say yes to the invitation.
Upon arriving at the Grand Hyatt in Seoul, I immediately felt my shoulders loosen, my scoliosis-affected back become a little less tense, and my brows unfurrow. When I entered my room, every corner was filled with Sulwhasoo skin care items, including a sheet mask that saved me post-flight. And the hotel service was next-level. The respect and kindness visitors are shown was noticeable. The bellman, for example, removed his shoes before entering my room—like, can we get this in America, too? I felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t experienced in a while—and I realized that, along the way, I’d subconsciously convinced myself that it was a respite I didn’t deserve.
Throughout the week, between editing articles and answering emails, I found my favorite matcha spot (Ferments is a gem!), learned how to say “Hello, my name is Akili” in Korean, wandered around town in Myeong-dong, did a food tour at the infamous Gwangjang Market, visited Sulwhasoo headquarters and emptied the Olive June shelves of all the must-try sheet masks. I eagerly anticipated a nice treat, after traveling, working and stomping around the streets of Seoul in my Free People boots.
When it was finally time for my spa day, which took place at the Sulwhasoo Spa, I was ready. The spa, decorated with futuristic gold embellishments, felt like another world. I slipped into a robe in a gorgeous room before sliding under the warm blanket draped over my facial bed. I knew I was going to be knocked out.
I was getting the Signature Ginseng Treatment Program; and I was excited, as Sulwhasoo and K-beauty are known for ginseng innovations. The treatment involves four stages: purification, warmth, focus and recovery. The purification is all about relaxing the body and emptying emotions that weigh you down, via rituals called Sulwha Dong (the Zen waves created by the Sulwha Bowl) and Sulwha Jeong (the aesthetician rubs the skin with a dry cotton towel and signature scents, for sensorial touch).
The warmth stage includes the First Care Activating Serum ritual. Hot stones are applied to the skin, to help with absorption of the ginseng products. In the focus stage, the aesthetician tailors the program to your skin concerns, using stone and white porcelain massagers for “synergy.” Last, the recovery stage offers hand and eye treatments, based on the assessment of your five organs and six viscera. As my aesthetician told me, by the end of the service, “You should feel reinvigorated through your mind and body, with a strong sense of relaxation.” And I really did.
Not only was my skin glowing afterward, but the aesthetician must have released some sort of tension point during the massage portion of the treatment. Tears filled my eyes as I lay there. The emotion came, in part, because I was relaxed and so relieved to have a break from the constant grind of navigating major life changes: I was now single, I was adjusting to my new dream job, and I was in the middle of moving yet again. But I also teared up because I was simply so proud of how far I’d come. I had traveled solo across the world in an uncertain time; and I had relearned that I deserve peace, no matter how broken I feel. There I was, in a recovery stage of my own, falling in love again, this time with a new city—and with myself.
