In the wake of this pain, I turned towards the largest body I could find to hold me: Mother 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 jungle of Costa Rica. 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 grief emerged from 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 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 into their own inner wild) is borne of my transmuted pain. It’s also borne of my unwavering hope in humanity.