We are storytelling beings, shaped as much by the narratives we inherit as by those we create. Every choice we make, every feeling we carry, is nested within a dialogue between our inner world, the microcosmos, and the larger cosmic forces that hold us, the macrocosms. This dynamic tension, this dance of Yin and Yang, subconscious and superconscious, forms the terrain where our conscious reality is built. The more we attune to the patterns of both our natal imprint and the universal archetypes, the more clearly, we can recognize the myths we’ve been living. From this place of awareness, storytelling becomes a sacred act, not of fiction, but of remembering, reclaiming, and reweaving the truth of who we are. What follows is my own remembering.
The Rhythm of My Becoming
I was born into a home where the mind was held high, where knowledge wore a suit, and truth was measured in grades, degrees, and clean, defined answers. But even as a child, I walked differently. My eyes looked for beauty, my hands shaped the invisible, and my heart burned for justice I couldn’t yet name. I was the only girl among brothers, born in Colombia into a family that loved me, but didn’t always understand the fire I carried. I didn’t speak it, I painted it, moved it, lived it. My mother saw that spark. She never tried to tame it. Instead, she gave me wings made of silence and trust. She taught me that my difference was not a flaw, but a frequency. And so I grew into a girl who knew her worth not through comparison, but through creation.
I believed that everything I needed lived within me. And if it didn’t, I would find it, or make it. My inner world was deep, dialogic, alive. I wasn’t afraid to go into the dark to find an answer. I welcomed depth as a companion. There was a kind of music inside me that didn’t follow logic, it followed feeling. I would lose myself in conversation, in art, in the kind of curiosity that made others uncomfortable. But for me, it was home.
Words always wanted to mean something more. I was never a numbers girl. My numbers were hidden, they lived in symbols, in colors, in intuitive codes only my body could decipher. I was always drawn to philosophy, not math; to beauty, not measurement. And though I felt like a stranger to the academic world, I was loyal and structured in my own way. I created beauty with discipline. I found rhythm in devotion. Wherever I went, I carried home within me, and I made it beautiful.
At fifteen, I left Colombia to study abroad. A girl with big eyes and a burning heart, I planted myself in foreign soil and grew through resilience. I knew how to survive. I knew how to thrive. But it wasn’t until I was asked to design a campaign that targeted twelve-year-olds for a cigarette brand that I truly woke up to my values. I said no. I was fired. And in that rupture, I was reborn. By twenty-one, I was living in the U.S., starting my own design company.
I moved to New York with nothing but vision. I began again. I created from my soul. I didn’t want to amplify messages that weren’t mine. I wanted to beautify the world with meaning, with connection, with truth. And so I followed the thread of what felt real, from martial arts to yoga, from breath to presence. I began to build an inner architecture. A kind of spiritual hygiene. A way of living where ritual wasn’t performance, but pulse. Where coherence wasn’t an idea, but a state of being.
As I walked this path, I became fiercely discerning with my time, my energy, my commitments. When I choose something, or someone, I bring all of me. I soften the sharp edge of self to merge with the other, with severance I honored the Yang that became my soul companion. I protect what I love with the intensity of a warrior and the softness of a mother. And life, of course, brought me its initiations. I have walked through loss, through uncertainty, through endings that felt like breaking. But I never hardened. I learned that true strength is the ability to remain soft within chaos. That real stability is making harmony with the truth that everything changes.
My mind has always been a seeker, restless, curious, vast. I was never satisfied with half-truths. I studied not to accumulate knowledge, but to remember what I already felt in my bones. My connection to the plant realm began not in books, but in sensation. I wanted to know what the plants felt. I wanted to feel with them. That led me to study their medicine, through scent, through presence, through the body. My hands became translators of their frequency. Their silence taught me how to listen. Their roots taught me how to stay. I vow as a devotee.
And then I became a mother. Not only to my son, but to my own inner child. To my clients. To every being who comes to me seeking safety in their transformation. I learned what it meant to love unconditionally, to hold space, to hold pain, to hold possibility. I found my purpose not in a title, but in the act of witnessing someone return to themselves. That became my work: to guide others back to their essence, gently, wisely, with the breath of the plants, the rhythm of the body, the timing of the stars.
I have never walked alone. I’ve been supported by a constellation of mentors, allies, and invisible forces. I believe in the collective. I believe in the unseen. I believe in the sacred timing of everything. As much as i have them, they have me, fully.
And yes, I have touched darkness. I have collapsed, wept, doubted. But I always returned to the light, not because I chased it, but because it lived inside me all along. Magic has been my compass. Alchemy, my companion. I don’t need to understand everything to trust it. I don’t need proof to believe. I am here to feel. To guide. To remember.
And to help others do the same.
