Let’s do a Walk-through of My Property: My Mind/Body and Soul Naming the Pattern

The Walk Through: Reclaiming My Presence

I began my walk through by naming what no longer served me. It wasn’t dramatic—it was quiet. A slow unraveling through journaling, breathwork, and soul-listening. The secret, I discovered, was presence. Not just showing up physically, but being fully here—with my body, my emotions, and my truth.

As I listened inward, I began to recognize the unspoken agreements I had inherited from family, work, and relationships. Beliefs like:

• Sweet Rest must be earned

• Self-worth requires service

• Peacekeeping means silencing myself

These weren’t truths. They were survival codes. And naming them was the first step toward freedom—some of the hardest, most sacred work I’ve ever done.

Do you know that feeling when your emotions rise like a tide in your throat, and you sense that if one tear escapes, you might cry for a year? That was me. Again and again. Each time I faced an old agreement, that feeling returned. But what I learned is: most of it was just that—a feeling. And feelings, when honored, move.

The tears came. The loud, messy, soul-wrenching cry. And then—something magical. I felt lighter. My mind cleared. My womb and spirit released a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

This is what reclamation looks and feels like. Not always graceful and pretty, but always sacred.

Embodied Healing: Reclaiming My Nervous System

I no longer treat my body as a battleground—no longer a target for others’ projections or a vessel of silent endurance. Today, she is my guide. My compass toward deeper healing and higher energy.

Each morning begins with breathwork and meditation rituals. Herbal teas steep with intention. I walk the land beneath my feet, listening to its quiet wisdom. These daily practices have become anchors—reminders that healing for me is not just physical it is emotional and spiritual, profound changes are occurring with each step, sip, and breathe.

I reclaim my nervous system. I teach it safety. I teach it stillness. And in that stillness, I find a new kind of power—gentle, rooted, and holy.