I am back in the jungle in Mexico, arriving for a session of Clarity Breathwork.
As I step into this beautiful and sacred space in the middle of the jungle, my nervous system immediately begins to calm down. The sounds of nature, the humidity in the air, the aliveness of the land, it all holds me. I can feel myself softening, arriving not just physically, but emotionally and energetically.
My facilitator, Sabine, and I enter a small hut that was built specifically for deep healing and inner work. It feels intentional, protected, and sacred, like a container designed to hold whatever is ready to emerge.
We begin the session with regular deep breathing, followed by gentle movements to open the body and invite awareness inward. I start to feel into my body more fully, noticing sensations, subtle tensions, and areas asking for attention. After a while, I lie down and begin breathing deeply through my mouth.
And then, the rain begins.
Not softly, but powerfully.
It feels as if the sky has opened completely, pouring all of its emotions, blessings, and release onto the jungle surrounding us. The sound of the rain becomes part of my breath, part of the experience itself.
As I sink deeper, sensations begin to arise, tingling, tightness, and stuck energy moving through my chest, my abdomen, and my toes. I am encouraged to breathe even deeper, to stay present, to allow my body to speak.
Suddenly, I am no longer just here.
I am back 23 years ago, giving birth to my twins.
My body remembers.
All the emotions I was unable to fully feel or express at that time rise to the surface now, fear, helplessness, pain, shame, anger, and deep frustration. The birth had been difficult. My OB/GYN did not want to be there that day. She was disconnected, resentful, impatient. She threatened to take me into a C-section because the birth wasn’t progressing according to her timeline.
I was scared. Overwhelmed. In so much pain.
There was no space to feel, no time to acknowledge what was happening in my body or my heart. I was forced to push harder, shamed for not doing enough, made to feel as though I was failing, for not pushing hard enough, for not producing.
I had no choice but to repress everything.
Until now.
As these memories move through my body during the breathwork, I ask Sabine to hold me from behind so that I can feel supported. I need the feminine nurturing touch that was missing that day, and perhaps even long before that day.
She wraps her arms around me, sitting behind me, holding me gently yet firmly.
And once again, I experience the birth.
But this time, it is different.
This time, I am supported. Held. Seen. My femininity is honored, held sacred, and encouraged. I am not only giving birth to two beautiful baby boys.
I am giving birth to myself.
To a version of me who is a powerful feminine creator, of life, of love, and of everything around her.
I consciously enter this space and remain there for what feels like eternity. I realize that I am doing this not just for that birth, not just for this lifetime, but for lifetimes where I may not have been allowed to fully step into my feminine. Lifetimes where womanhood was constrained, silenced, or suppressed.
The rain is pouring even harder now.
Drops fall onto my face, washing away my tears.
And in that moment, I feel whole again.
I remember who I am.
I celebrate myself, my body, my breath, my resilience, and my power. I honor the woman who endured, the mother who birthed life under impossible conditions, and the feminine force that never truly left me, only waited to be remembered.
I stand in deep reverence for my creative power, my intuition, and my capacity to heal, not just myself, but the lineages before and after me. In this sacred jungle, held by the earth and the rain, I reclaim my authority over my body, my story, and my becoming.
This is my initiation.
This is my remembering.
This is my power.