I’m in Basque Country, Spain. We’ve been here for five days and my whole system has taken a much needed deep breath. I’ve slept late. I’ve taken slow mornings with coffee and my partner by my side. The kids run around chasing dogs and feeding geese. I smile.

My normal grind has been a push for me these last years. I came out of Covid deeply depleted and for years I tried to do all the things to get myself back. I went to acupuncture, practiced yoga, did breathwork, saw a nutritionist, then a naturepath, I tried to follow my joy…I could go on, but I don’t need to. I bet you’ve been there too. Even if your things are different.

I’m finally coming out of the fog. And I could tell you exactly how I did it, how much zinc I took, which bodywork actually started to shift things, what I talked about in therapy. But it wouldn’t matter. Your story is different than mine. What I learned about finding myself again (and in some ways for the first time) was that I had to learn to listen deeply to what was in me. What had been left unsaid. Where I had been betraying myself. What hard things I wasn’t yet willing to see.

I had to learn to listen, to the language of me.

And then I had to start showing up. I had to meet myself in all the places I’d felt unmet. Unheard. Abandoned. I’ve had support, but only because I’ve built it. I found the people and the practices that would listen and would respond. But still it was my work, my journey. There was no other way. And that’s the beauty of it, we were always meant to be our own first love, our own champion. And so I became that person.

And now I know how to hear what will hold me. When cold water feels like a threat, and when it feels like an invitation. When I know I will be held. And how to create the spaces for holding.

I let myself jump in, and it was glorious.

The Language of Me

This is Love

Letting Go of Performance