After all these years of sitting with people, I have come to believe that beneath everything, we are love—and somewhere along the way, we lose our connection to that truth.

We are battered and bruised by life in countless ways. From those 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 that means returning compassionately to the experiences that shaped the stories we carry. Sometimes it means recognizing the ways we continue to reinforce those stories 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 this truth. 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 always have to walk it alone.