In the wake of this pain, I turned towards the largest body I could find to hold me: the Earth. The natural world gave me permission me to slow down and soften. It gave me a place to tend to my wounds and put down all of my life’s shoulds: who I should be, how I should feel, what I should be doing. In doing so, I was able to create more space inside myself within which I could truly listen.
In 2022, following my heart’s call, I spent two months alone in the Costa Rican jungle. This time was ripe with both inner and outer exploration. For the first time in my life, as I swam in the Caribbean Sea where my ancestors once swam, I felt that I belonged. A reservoir of ancient sadness emerged alongside my new sense of belonging. I grieved deeply for my past, my younger selves, and for all of the ways I had been hurt, neglected, or abandoned- especially by myself. In a ceremony on the beach, I made myself a promise: I may get lost, but I’ll always come back. I’ll always come home. I’ll always do my best to be here.
Through my evolving relationship with myself and Mother Nature, I have come to realize that, just like the ants and the jungle and the rain, I have an important gift to offer. This offering- to lovingly guide others back into their own inner wild- is borne of my transmuted pain. It’s also borne of my unwavering hope in humanity.