It's On Me

It's On Me Plot Summary

Introduction

In a crowded airport terminal, a 24-year-old woman stands frozen as panic grips her body. Her arms curl inward, her speech becomes incoherent, and the world seems to close in around her. This pivotal moment in Sara Kuburic's life wasn't just a medical emergency—it was an existential awakening that would transform her understanding of authenticity and selfhood. Born amid the turmoil of war-torn Yugoslavia and later immigrating to Canada, Kuburic's journey from trauma to transformation offers a profound window into the human struggle for genuine self-expression. Sara Kuburic, now an existential psychotherapist and influential voice in mental health, embodies the intersection of academic rigor and lived experience. Her framework for understanding self-loss and reclaiming authenticity resonates with millions who feel disconnected from their true selves in our modern world. Through her journey, we witness how childhood trauma can lead to self-preservation at the cost of self-awareness, how moments of crisis can become catalysts for profound change, and perhaps most importantly, how taking responsibility for one's existence—even amid constraints—offers a path toward meaningful freedom. Her story illuminates not just the struggle of one woman to find herself, but the universal human quest to live authentically in a world that often pushes us toward conformity.

Chapter 1: War-Torn Childhood: Trauma and Self-Preservation

Sara Kuburic's earliest memories are tinged with the chaos and uncertainty of war. At just nine years old, her childhood in Yugoslavia was abruptly interrupted when conflict erupted around her small town. One seemingly ordinary spring day in 1999, Sara and her family were watching television when programming was interrupted by an announcement—war had officially begun. Within moments, air-raid sirens wailed through the streets, and as they rushed outside seeking shelter, the first bomb landed mere kilometers away. The hot rush of air, the orange cloud rising in the distance—these sensations would become imprinted in the young girl's consciousness. In the months that followed, Sara's existence narrowed to the basic elements of survival. Home became underground bunkers and public shelters, where hundreds of strangers huddled together on torn blankets under flickering fluorescent lights. The concept of safety transformed into something immediate and physical—having enough food, finding space in bomb shelters, sleeping in shifts while fully clothed with emergency bags packed. The psychological implications were profound; trauma was shifting her priority from self-awareness to self-preservation, a pattern that would follow her well into adulthood. One particularly harrowing memory stands out in Sara's retelling of this period. She recalls holding her mother's hand as they crossed a bridge toward a bus terminal, planning her escape from the country. Halfway across, air-raid sirens blared, and they spotted a plane flying directly toward them. They ran, hearts pounding, knowing they couldn't outrun an aircraft but driven by pure survival instinct. Though the plane ultimately targeted a different bridge, the terror of that moment remained. Shortly after, Sara boarded a bus to Bosnia alone—a child refugee with nothing but a plastic bag of snacks, uncertain who would meet her on the other side. The physical escape from war would eventually lead Sara and her family to Canada, but the psychological patterns established during this period continued to shape her relationships with herself and others. She developed a protective shell of judgment, emotional shutdown, and distrust—necessary adaptations in a war zone but limiting in peacetime. Like an elephant trained with a stake and rope as a baby who continues to believe it's trapped even when fully grown, Sara remained psychologically tethered to survival mode long after the external threats had passed. This early trauma created a profound disconnect between Sara and her authentic self. Unable to experience the normal development of identity that comes through play, exploration, and self-expression, she instead learned to prioritize safety and external adaptation over internal truth. The hyper-vigilance that kept her alive during war became a barrier to vulnerability and connection in adulthood. Yet within this trauma also lay the seeds of her later insights—the lived understanding that external circumstances shape us but need not define us, and that reclaiming one's power begins with recognizing when survival patterns have outlived their usefulness.

Chapter 2: The Breaking Point: Panic Attack and Self-Recognition

When Sara turned 24, the carefully constructed facade of her life began to crumble. On the outside, she was functioning—married young, pursuing a master's degree in counseling psychology, living what appeared to be a stable life in Vancouver. Yet beneath this veneer of normalcy, disconnection was growing. She lived in a cramped basement apartment she could barely afford, drove a beat-up van that made alarming noises, and came home to a marriage that felt increasingly hollow. Most significantly, she had lost touch with who she truly was, having built her identity around roles and expectations rather than authentic desires. The breaking point came during what should have been a casual weekend in Los Angeles. While having drinks with a college friend, Sara was asked a seemingly simple question: "Are you happy?" Something in this innocent query pierced through her defenses. Tears began streaming down her face, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. In that moment of unexpected vulnerability, three devastating realizations surfaced: she was profoundly unhappy, she had no idea who she truly was anymore, and she felt utterly broken without understanding how she had reached this state. The following day at the airport, as Sara prepared to return to Vancouver, her body made the decision her conscious mind had been avoiding. Standing in line to board the plane, her vision blurred, her breathing became shallow, and panic overwhelmed her. Breaking protocol, she unbuckled her seatbelt during taxi and demanded to exit the plane. Once back in the terminal, her body seized—arms contorting inward, speech failing, a full-blown panic attack taking physical control. As paramedics arrived, something crystallized within her: she would no longer be a passive observer in her own life. This physiological rebellion represented a profound moment of self-recognition. In the midst of her body's distress, Sara experienced a strange clarity—a willingness to adjust, burn, abandon, or shatter anything necessary to reclaim her authentic self. The panic attack was not merely a medical event but an existential wake-up call, forcing her to acknowledge the profound self-loss that had been occurring for years. Her body expressed what her conscious mind had been avoiding: continuing on this path of inauthenticity was not merely uncomfortable but existentially threatening. In the months that followed this airport epiphany, Sara undertook radical life changes. She ended her marriage, took a sabbatical from her studies, and eventually packed what little she owned to travel to Serbia, her childhood home. She began to create intentional space for herself—to feel, to grieve, to reconnect with her body, and to recognize her own needs and desires. Most importantly, she began taking responsibility for her existence, understanding that while trauma and circumstance had shaped her past, only she could determine her future by making choices aligned with her authentic self. The panic attack, while excruciating, ultimately became a gift—the moment that placed Sara on the path toward embodying who she truly was. It represented not just a breakdown but a breakthrough, forcing her to face the painful reality that she had been "simply, and perpetually, enduring the fact that I am alive" rather than truly living. This crisis became the foundation for her later work as an existential therapist, helping others recognize and navigate their own experiences of self-loss.

Chapter 3: Freedom Through Responsibility: Existential Awakening

Sara's journey toward authenticity led her deep into existential philosophy, where she found frameworks that resonated with her lived experience. The concepts articulated by thinkers like Søren Kierkegaard, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Viktor Frankl illuminated the path she was already intuitively walking. At the core of her awakening was a revolutionary idea: freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin, and embracing both is essential to authentic living. In her studies and personal exploration, Sara encountered Sartre's challenging proposition that "to be free is to be condemned to be free." Far from being dramatic, this statement acknowledged that human freedom is not optional—it is our inescapable condition. Even when we attempt to surrender our freedom by letting others make our choices or blaming circumstances for our situation, we are still exercising freedom through that surrender. This realization shifted Sara's perspective on her own history. While she had genuinely been helpless as a child during war, she was not helpless as an adult living an inauthentic life—yet she had struggled to distinguish the difference. Particularly transformative was Viktor Frankl's insight that "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances." Having survived the Nazi concentration camps, Frankl understood better than most how external constraints can severely limit conventional freedom. Yet he maintained that even in the most oppressive conditions, humans retain the freedom to determine their internal response. For Sara, this highlighted the difference between circumstances and choices—between what had happened to her and what she would do about it. This existential framework helped Sara reconcile her past trauma with her present responsibility. She came to understand that while the war and its aftermath had profoundly shaped her, continuing to live in survival mode was now a choice she was making, not an inevitable consequence of her history. The therapeutic question shifted from "Why did this happen to me?" to "What am I going to do about it now?" This wasn't about dismissing or minimizing trauma, but about reclaiming agency within its aftermath. Perhaps most importantly, Sara began to grasp that authenticity isn't about finding some pre-existing "true self" hidden beneath layers of socialization. Rather, it's about actively creating oneself through choices, taking responsibility for those choices, and living with inner consent—saying yes to who one is becoming. This understanding transformed how she approached her identity. Instead of seeing herself as a fixed entity damaged by war, she recognized herself as a dynamic, evolving being with the power to shape who she would become through her decisions and actions. This existential awakening did not make life easier, but it made it more meaningful. Sara found freedom not in the absence of constraints but in her relationship to them—in her ability to choose how she would respond to her "givens" while embracing the possibilities that remained open to her. As she would later teach her clients, this kind of freedom isn't about escaping responsibility but about embracing it as the very foundation of authentic existence.

Chapter 4: Boundaries as Self-Expression: Finding One's Voice

One of the most profound realizations in Sara's journey came through an unexpected channel: boundaries. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest after immigrating to Canada, she often found herself boxed into stereotypes and expectations based on where she lived. People would make assumptions about her lifestyle, preferences, and even her values—expecting her to be an outdoorsy, health-conscious, environmentally-minded individual who spent weekends hiking and drinking artisanal coffee. The frustration Sara felt wasn't merely about these assumptions being inaccurate. What troubled her more deeply was how these expectations left no room for her actual self to exist. People had already filled in all the blanks, creating a narrative that she was then expected to validate through her behavior. When she showed up as her authentic self—a philosophy-reading, city-loving, croissant-eating, fashion-appreciating individual—people seemed disappointed, as if she had somehow let them down simply by being herself. This experience illuminated a crucial insight: boundaries are not just protective measures but essential forms of self-expression. Contrary to popular understanding, boundaries aren't primarily about keeping others out but about creating a clear outline of who we are. They communicate our needs, values, and preferences in ways that allow others to see and understand us authentically. In Sara's words, "If I share my boundaries with you, I am not just telling you about my needs, wants, or expectations; I am showing you who I am and how I understand myself." For Sara, setting boundaries became a revolutionary act of self-reclamation. Simple statements like "No thanks, I don't feel like camping," "I'd rather grab a croissant instead of a salad," or "I don't feel comfortable with you commenting on my body" weren't just preferences—they were declarations of her existence. Each boundary she established helped sketch the silhouette of her authentic self, making her visible both to others and, crucially, to herself. This perspective transformed how she understood relationships. Rather than seeing boundaries as obstacles to connection, she recognized them as prerequisites for genuine intimacy. Without clear boundaries, people can only connect with projections or assumptions about each other, not with their actual selves. Setting boundaries became a way of saying, "This is who I am—if you want to connect with me, this is what you're connecting with." Through her own healing and later in her work as a therapist, Sara discovered that poor boundaries often indicate a weak sense of self. Those who struggle to set boundaries frequently don't know who they are clearly enough to draw the outlines. Alternatively, they may know themselves but lack the conviction that who they are deserves to be protected and expressed. This insight turned boundary-setting from a defensive practice into an affirmative one—not just protecting the self but actively declaring it.

Chapter 5: The Body-Self Connection: Embodying Authenticity

Throughout her journey toward authenticity, Sara encountered a profound truth that many overlook: there is no self without the body. Having experienced first-hand the devastation of disconnection from her physical being, she came to understand that embodiment is essential to authentic existence. The relationship between mind and body isn't hierarchical but integrative—we don't merely have bodies; we are our bodies. During her period of self-loss, Sara, like many others, had developed a strained relationship with her physical self. The trauma of war had taught her to suppress bodily signals, to ignore needs, to prioritize survival over sensation. Later, social messaging reinforced the idea that her body was something to control, modify, or hide rather than experience and express. This disconnection manifested in various ways—from ignoring hunger and exhaustion to experiencing anxiety attacks that seemed to come from nowhere, her body rebelling against her mind's attempts to maintain emotional control. Drawing from existential philosophers like Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Sara began to understand the body as "our general medium for having a world." Without experiencing the world through our bodies, there is no self-experience at all. When we disconnect from our physical sensations, we lose access to a fundamental aspect of our existence. As Sara eloquently puts it, "Embodiment is a way of creating authenticity." This understanding led to a transformative practice of reconnection. Rather than viewing her body as a project to be improved or a tool to be used, Sara began treating it as a source of wisdom and expression. Simple practices became profound—feeling her breath, noticing tensions, moving intuitively rather than performatively. She discovered that moments when she felt most authentically herself were often moments of full embodiment—while dancing, crying, walking along the ocean, or simply being present in physical sensation. For Sara, this reconnection wasn't just personal but professional. In her therapy practice, she observed how clients who struggled with their sense of self almost invariably had complicated relationships with their bodies. Some were disconnected, barely noticing physical sensations until they became overwhelming. Others were preoccupied, constantly scrutinizing and trying to control their physical appearance. Still others feared their bodies, particularly after trauma or illness had made the body feel unsafe or unreliable. The path toward integration required changing the narratives about the body—moving from viewing it as unsafe, as a project, as a tool, or as existing for others, toward experiencing it as an integral aspect of selfhood. Sara developed practices to help clients reconnect: body scans to notice sensations, intuitive movement to express emotions, conscious breathing to experience the life force within. These weren't merely relaxation techniques but existential practices that restored access to the self through physical presence. Perhaps most powerfully, Sara recognized that society's dismissal of embodiment contributes significantly to collective self-loss. In a culture that values mental activity over physical wisdom, that rewards pushing beyond bodily limits, and that treats the body primarily as an image to be perfected, reconnection with the body becomes a radical act of self-reclamation. By listening to, respecting, and expressing through our bodies, we reclaim a fundamental dimension of authentic existence.

Chapter 6: Turning Toward: Emotional Reconnection as Existence

One of the most transformative concepts in Sara's journey came from a simple yet profound existential practice: turning toward. In a world that often encourages us to turn away from discomfort—to distract, numb, or intellectualize our emotions—Sara discovered that authentic existence requires the courage to turn toward our feelings, our experiences, and ultimately, ourselves. The metaphor is beautifully literal: when we turn toward someone physically, our body aligns with theirs, creating a space for genuine encounter. Similarly, turning toward our emotions and experiences means directing our attention inward, creating pathways for self-understanding rather than avoidance. This practice emerged as Sara recognized how consistently she had been turning away—from grief, from anger, from joy, from her own needs and desires—in an attempt to maintain control and avoid vulnerability. A poignant example from Sara's life illustrates this dynamic. While sitting in an Amsterdam café, she observed a woman openly weeping with a companion. Initially, Sara felt admiration for this stranger's willingness to embrace her emotions so publicly. When their eyes met, there was a moment of profound human connection—a recognition of shared vulnerability. Yet within moments, Sara found herself shifting into judgment: What terrible thing must have happened to "justify" such public emotion? Wasn't the woman embarrassed? In that small moment, Sara caught herself turning away—replacing attunement and connection with assessment and distance. This pattern of turning away manifests widely in society's relationship with emotions. Sara observed how many clients came to therapy having been taught from childhood that their feelings were inconvenient, inappropriate, or even dangerous. Messages like "don't cry," "calm down," "you're too sensitive," or "stop being so dramatic" had conditioned them to suppress their emotional experiences. The consequences were profound—disconnection from self, difficulty in relationships, and often, explosive emotional reactions when suppression no longer worked. For Sara, reconnecting with emotions became not just a therapeutic technique but an existential practice. She learned that emotions are not problems to be solved but experiences to be felt—the "inner movement of our Being" that signals what matters to us. Rather than judging emotions as positive or negative, she began to view them as messengers, providing vital information about her values, needs, and relationship to the world. Even difficult emotions like grief, anger, or fear became valuable when approached with curiosity rather than resistance. This approach required distinguishing between feeling emotions and being consumed by them. Sara discovered that observing multiple emotions simultaneously—recognizing that one can feel both sad and relieved, both angry and loving—actually diluted the power of any single emotion to overwhelm. Similarly, recognizing that feelings aren't facts (feeling rejected doesn't mean one is being rejected) created space for emotional experience without confusing it with objective reality. Perhaps most powerfully, Sara came to understand that emotional connection is essential to existence itself. Without the capacity to be moved by our experiences—to feel joy, sorrow, love, loss—we become spectators rather than participants in our own lives. Turning toward emotions became a way of saying yes to existence, embracing the full spectrum of human experience rather than settling for a muted, distant approximation of living.

Chapter 7: The Art of Being: Phenomenology and Self-Presence

At the heart of Sara's philosophy lies a profound yet accessible practice: the art of being. Drawing from phenomenology—a philosophical approach focused on direct experience rather than abstract theorizing—she discovered that authentic existence isn't about finding some hidden self but about being fully present to life as it unfolds, moment by moment. This approach crystallized during a powerful therapy session with a client named Claire. Despite Claire's constant stream of words about her life, Sara sensed a fundamental disconnection—Claire was saying much but experiencing little. Through a guided exercise focusing on something as simple as the chair Claire was sitting on, Sara helped her shift from distracted narration to direct experience. By noticing sensations, listening to what the chair seemed to be "communicating," and allowing herself to respond emotionally, Claire accessed deeper truths about herself than hours of analytical discussion had revealed. This phenomenological attitude became central to Sara's understanding of authenticity. Rather than approaching life through preconceptions, judgments, or abstract knowledge, it involves a quality of openness—what phenomenologists call "disarmed seeing." It means looking at what appears directly before us and personally relating to what we perceive, allowing understanding to emerge from experience rather than imposing it from outside. For Sara, this represented a radical shift from how many people typically operate. Instead of constantly analyzing, categorizing, or trying to control experiences, phenomenology invites us to let them unfold, to be touched by them, to allow their meaning to emerge. It's about recognizing that the observer is part of the observed—that our engagement with the world simultaneously reveals both the world and ourselves. This approach transforms mundane moments into opportunities for self-discovery. A sunset, a conversation, a piece of music, a physical sensation—all become gateways to deeper understanding when approached with phenomenological openness. As Sara puts it, "Your Self is at your fingertips. Look around you—that is who you are." Our responses to everyday encounters reveal more about who we are than any abstract self-analysis. Perhaps most powerfully, phenomenology offers an antidote to the modern tendency toward distraction and disembodiment. In a world where many people spend hours scrolling, streaming, or otherwise avoiding direct experience, the simple practice of turning attention toward what is actually happening—in our bodies, our surroundings, our relationships—becomes revolutionary. It reconnects us to the texture and meaning of existence that no virtual experience can replicate. For Sara, recovering from self-loss ultimately meant embracing this art of being—choosing presence over distraction, direct experience over abstract knowledge, and engagement over avoidance. It meant waking up and feeling the sheets against her skin before checking her phone, tasting her food rather than eating mindlessly, and genuinely listening to others instead of preparing her next response. These aren't merely mindfulness practices but existential choices that determine whether we truly exist or merely go through the motions of living.

Summary

At its core, Sara Kuburic's journey illuminates a profound truth: authenticity is not a destination but a continuous choice to align our actions with our deepest values, to take responsibility for our existence despite our limitations, and to engage fully with life rather than merely enduring it. Her evolution from a traumatized child surviving war to a disconnected young adult performing roles to an integrated woman embracing her full humanity offers not just inspiration but a practical roadmap for anyone feeling lost or disconnected from themselves. The lessons from Sara's story speak directly to our modern epidemic of self-loss. In a world that encourages distraction over presence, performance over authenticity, and external validation over inner consent, her message is both countercultural and urgently needed. She invites us to reclaim our agency by acknowledging our freedom and responsibility, to reconnect with our bodies as sources of wisdom rather than projects to be perfected, to turn toward our emotions rather than suppressing them, and to engage directly with experience rather than hiding in abstraction. Above all, she challenges us to stop waiting for permission to be ourselves and to recognize that every moment offers an opportunity to choose authenticity—not as a self-indulgent luxury but as the foundation for meaningful existence. As she discovered through her own painful journey, nothing is more valuable than our sense of self, and no effort more worthwhile than creating space to embody who we truly are.

About Author

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Sara Kuburic

Existential psychotherapist, co-founder of The Phenomenological Society, speaker, essayist, former USA Today columnist and consultant. Often known as the millennial therapist, having built a community of over 1.7m individuals where the author shares tips and musings that normalize human experiences and encourage self-reflection.

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