my story

I’ve been searching for the meaning and purpose and understanding of my life and my pain and the worlds pain since as far back as I can remember. Wondering where I fit? Who I am? Who we are? What lessons am I meant to learn? Where did we come from? Why am I here? Who am I meant to become? What is the purpose of the paths we take? The hurt we endure? The feelings we feel? The people placed in our lives? The way we connect and heal and hurt and love each other. Staring at every injustice (mine and yours and the worlds) like there had to be an answer I was meant to find.

I’ve looked for it through prayer in churches and Buddhist temples. I’ve done every kind of therapy available to me. Read my birth chart and flipped tarot cards. Studied comedy, laughter and various forms of yoga. Traveled to refugee camps on the Syrian border, worked in gang hot spots in Chicago and became a therapist to understand others pain and to make sense of my own. I learned about death and dying with spiritual masters in Taos and studied with Afghani mystics in the desert. I’ve searched for meaning in psychedelic frogs and mushrooms and peyote and ayahuasca. I’ve done silent retreats and a solo dark cave retreat where I was sensory deprived to understand myself better when everything is stripped away. I’ve swam in bioluminescent bays in Mexico, rafted through Utah, been rescued from a mountain in Alaska, danced with sufis and dervishes in the hills of New Mexico just to feel. I’ve ridden horses to a monastery deep in the hills of Spain, raved in an abandoned warehouse in Amsterdam for eighteen hours straight, created art that brought laughter to better understand human connection. I’ve looked for myself and humanity in people—leaders, ancestors, friends, gurus, lovers, family, strangers, my patients, and past and future versions of myself. I’ve looked for a home in people who couldn’t provide it, substances, other peoples ideas of success, control, in bags packed between childhood homes, on the floor beside my childhood best friends twin bed, in tiny rooms in tiny apartments in massive cities and dank dark basements, in others hospitality, in spiritual communes in Costa Rica, solo car camping in Tofino with the Old Growth trees, and in the mountains of Guatemala and Colorado. I’ve read poetry and books and manifestos and song lyrics hoping someone else had figured it out. Never satisfied with what felt like crumbs to my insatiable mind and longing heart.

I’ve always taken the long road— sometimes to self sabotage, sometimes to grow—always due to my desperation for more, for depth, for answers or lack thereof. Simultaneously looking for an escape and steady ground. A meaning to trauma and life. Leaning into myself and running away from myself—often times confusing the two—these opposite pulls between me.

I’ve searched the ends of the earth for a purpose, for understanding, for perspective but what if this is all it’s going to be, I would often wonder? What if it’s just simply existing? What if that’s the Great Love. Not running away, not pushing or forcing, not diving in head first … just meeting myself here. Meeting people where they’re at and just accepting, just loving. And that’s what I’m working on now… not DOING, just being. Accepting. Just belonging to this life, this place in time. Relishing this moment. Belonging to you, to me and to everyone. Using the talents I’ve been blessed with for good, for laughter, for art, for change. Right here, right now. This moment in time. Maybe life is as simple as learning to find joy and understanding and love and push and pull and perspective and fulfillment and adventure and home in wherever you land—Whether that be a hospital bed or a sunrise on a mountain top.

So I think maybe there is no big answer, nothing that can explain my hurt or yours. No prayer that unlocks the code. No book that tells you how to do it. No mind-altering substance that will show you the meaning of life. No person who knows you better than you know yourself. I’ve sought so much outside validation for what is right here, this inner voice that knows exactly what she wants. The one that prefers the big moves and the small joys.

This moment in my life has helped me realize a few soft and hard truths: Laughter truly is the best medicine. My mind heals best in nature — where my bare feet can touch the ground, where I can hear birds and see the moon climb through the trees. Growth is painful, especially with open wounds but the discomfort is worth it. That forward movement sometimes requires a quiet hibernation. And family is who you choose it to be. That the answers we seek are in us, in the silent whispers of the heart where we can find the truth in all things. We each possess the divine and I see it best in the connection we feel to each other… our shared humanity. Our belonging.

I’m glad you’re here.