Everyone has a story.
On July 4th, 2016, I died. Not in the literal sense, though I came close. My intestines were twisted, and I underwent emergency surgery to have over eight feet of my small bowel removed in an effort to save my life. This metaphorical death of my old self was indeed an unraveling; one that ultimately revealed my true nature at its proverbial core. As a yogi for over a decade, I had thought I was healthy; I had thought I was healed—but this unprecedented health scare taught me that there is always more work to be done. Despite medical rationale and anatomical speculation, I have spent the past year of my recovery in quiet contemplation—wondering why on earth such a horrific thing had happened to my body. Today I understand the significance, and it is as deeply personal as it is spiritual. My stomach was once in knots, but now I am unbound: from self-sabotage and other limiting beliefs—no longer lost, but found. Though my body will never be the same again, I am strong and resilient. Though I still get tired easily, I give myself permission to rest when I need it. Though I cannot eat nor drink like I used to, I am content and at ease with what is—and I embrace my physical limitations, versus getting caught up in the confines of comparison. One year ago, a part of me may have died—but what was revealed and illuminated made it worth staying alive. I invite you to join me in this great unraveling of self-discovery; on this indelible journey of unlocking the stories that we carry.