The mountains have always done something to me. As a girl, they gave my heart somewhere to untangle things I didn’t yet know how to understand. Years later, driving another winding mountain road, I found myself meeting that younger version of me again.

So, as you might imagine, my efforts to create certainty became a coping method. It was one of the ways my nervous system learned to create safety.

This journey has brought me to my knees more times than I can count. I went the spiritual route, believing I just needed to pray harder or trust more deeply. I tried mindfulness, hypnotherapy, meditation. I sought help from naturopaths, kinesiologists, chiropractors, and…

Something I have grown to cherish, though, is that my life feels deeply shaped by the privilege to feel and be connected to what moves me.

It is a kind of oxymoron, a weird, squiggly journey, to start with such an adverse concept of self, only to find that love and wholeheartedness are about coming home to your own body, thoughts, emotions, and process… to own your story.

I recognized this voice. It belongs to the part of me that seeks control in order to avoid something. As I stayed with her, I sensed what was behind the bracing. A wounded part that is so very afraid.

The part of me that feels anxious… she’s allowed to be here. When I feel critical, she’s allowed to be here. When I feel scared, she’s allowed to be here.

After a lifetime of hyper-vigilance, it feels almost strange to notice that my default is slowly, gently shifting toward rest, joy, and peace. This journey began the moment…