During years of holding space for others, I have come to believe that beneath everything, we are love—and along the way, we can lose our connection to that truth.

Life throws all sorts of experiences our way. Some of them may feel like huge boulders, and may still be weighing heavy on our hearts. From all of our experiences, we develop stories about who we are, what we deserve, what is safe, and what is possible for us. Over time, these stories can begin to feel like truth.

I believe that underneath much of our growth there exists a simultaneous journey of remembering: remembering who we were before the wounds (and the stories) became our identity.

Sometimes taking the boulder off of our heart means returning with compassion to the inner self that never asked for the boulder in the first place. It may also mean recognizing the ways we continue to reinforce the false narratives in our relationships, our choices, and the way we speak to ourselves.

I don't believe there is one prescribed way to re-connect with the truth of who we are. There are a million and one ways to walk this path—through relationship, contemplation, nature, mindfulness, spirituality, embodiment, grief, creativity, community, or simply learning to sit more honestly with ourselves.

My role is not to tell another person which path to take.

My role is to create a psychologically safe space where the sacredness of their inner life can emerge. To listen deeply. To notice. To reflect. To offer what I sense when it may be useful.

And, perhaps most importantly, to remain beside them as a benevolent witness while they remember more fully who they are and decide for themselves how they want to live.

I believe we are always becoming, always remembering, always returning.

The path is ours to walk.

And we don't have to walk it alone.