I know what it feels like to carry something so heavy you forget what it was like to not carry it.

 

I grew up in a home where touch meant danger. The body became something to survive, not inhabit. Then came the military, which finished the job. By the time I got out I was so far from myself I did not even know I was lost.

 

I tried everything to not feel it. Alcohol. Drugs. Reckless choices. I worked my body into the ground. I screamed in ceremonies. I dug into the earth with my bare hands. I breathed so deep and so hard in breathwork until I went somewhere else entirely. I struggled to feel worthy of love. I had to get real with who I was. I had to learn what safe touch even meant, in myself first, before I could offer it to anyone else.

 

The world cracked the rest of me open. Guatemala activated my heart. Costa Rica showed me who I am. Brazil gave me music, love, and freedom. Colombia gave me my voice. In the Sacred Valley of Peru I was transformed at the root. In Africa I found the soul of rhythm.

 

Every wound. Every journey. Every ceremony. Every moment of breaking open and rebuilding lives in my hands when I work.

 

You are safe here. I do not have all the answers. But I am brave enough to go wherever you need to go, and I will not leave you there alone.