The Quiet Work

Over the last 14 weeks, I've been walking a journey I'm calling The Reclamation. I've been sharing transparently, openly, and powerfully in a way I never have before. Sitting in this moment with clarity and purpose, knowing that everything I'm sharing is not just supporting me, it's also supporting our healing as a collective.

This Reclamation isn't out of nowhere. It's been coming for a long time. And it's shown me just how much I've held on to for so many years — hurts, trauma, blame, frustrations — but also beauty and wonder and awe. I'm actually surprised by how much I'm able to hold in this container. God gave me this human body that held on to so many things to keep me safe. So many things to keep me from breaking into a million pieces. I'm always surprised at what keeps coming up — in my left shoulder, in my right hip. The things my gut tells me that my emotions try to cover up.

The Body I Stopped Listening To

I've recently come to terms with something that feels hard to admit: I haven't been listening to my body for a very long time.

Mostly because it's been locked up and painful. But also because it's been telling me things I don't want to hear.

I recently had a conversation in which I felt as if I wanted to throw myself through a wall. (yes, physically) And that was the wake-up call I needed — a reminder that my body always knows. It knows what I want to eat. It knows when I want to move. It knows when I'm in a place I shouldn't be. It signals me to stop or go. It's always known.

But I hardly ever listened. Because the people in my life kept telling me my body was wrong. That there was something wrong with me. That I couldn't possibly know. So I shut it down. I stopped listening. Because of course the people who loved me couldn't possibly be lying to me or wanting to hurt me — and sure, they probably weren't doing it on purpose. Yet by overriding my body over and over again, I finally had to come to terms with the fact that my body was deeply hurt. Not by them. By me. For not listening.

Now I'm clear. I always know. My body is signaling me — something is wrong, something is right — and by listening to it, sitting with it, being aware of it, I'm making better decisions. I'm more proactive. I'm more me.

I've gotten more in touch with my nervous system recently — something my friend Dr. Steve Young calls an energy system. And the distinction matters. Calling it a nervous system causes us to sit in high alert. But when we shift the language to energy system, it allows us to see what's really there. When my anxiety disappeared, I thought I was in the clear. But something else has replaced it. Something more fascinating — yet just as strong.

A deep knowing. An intuitive understanding of something I didn't read in a book or listen to on a podcast or learn in a class. A knowing that seems ancient. As if many lifetimes have passed and I've been collecting this knowledge, holding it in the container of this body.

All of us have gifts. And many of us never get a chance to find them until later in life, when they hit us over the head so hard we can't look away.

The Sorting

As I've been sitting in this beautiful space of release — this third phase of The Reclamation — I've been packing up my house. And I'm noticing how much I don't need anymore.

Things I can sell at a yard sale or donate or give to a friend. Things I can pass on to those who need them. I've donated art supplies from all my retreats to a local school. I've given all my tutus, French berets, and costumes to kids in a local drama department who will absolutely love them. I've got an entire closet of things bursting at the seams going out at a yard sale next Saturday. And I've noticed just how unattached I am to things I thought were really important to me — including clothes that aren't at all my color or my style anymore.

Memories keep popping up on my phone from five and seven years ago. A woman I don't recognize anymore. The me I used to be. The one I was before my healing truly began. I find myself remembering how she felt in those moments — exuding confidence while drowning in insecurity. Sitting in the full knowledge that she was herself in every single one of those moments, yet there was always some part of her doubting, worrying, fearing whatever was coming next.

She was so brave. So courageous to be herself without ever knowing how much darkness she was battling every single day.

I took a selfie this morning with hardly any makeup on. My eyes are glowing and I'm wearing a necklace my mom gave me at my high school graduation. I can see who I'm becoming. And I'm still holding on to parts of me I want to take on this next journey. Parts that can't go with me.

Healing the Healer

I recently got some energetic upgrades thanks to one of my favorite healers, Dr Marie Starling, who attended The Remembering retreat this past weekend. She came to do her own work, yet also came to support others in theirs. In doing so, she got more access to help each of us in a deeper way.

We had been talking about having her sit and be asked questions for years — something she's always seen herself doing — and I got to watch her entire system wake up to tap in and share her magical gifts with each person, including me. Those sessions became an even more profound catalyst for change for each of us, even her.

Isn't that how it's supposed to be? Each of us doing our healing is actually healing for the collective. Each of us stepping more into ourselves allows others to do the same.

I was talking to a friend yesterday who shared that she's been noticing how many people are waking up — but also how many are just at the very beginning of their journey. How some of them pick up new gifts or knowledge and immediately want to go teach everyone about it. And how some of them start the awakening only to walk right back the opposite direction and go back to sleep.

I'm definitely someone who used to learn something and immediately try to teach it, yet I eventually noticed it's not about how much we know. It's about how much we can embody. And embodiment takes integration.