Coming home to myself

This has been a long time coming.
I have always considered myself to be a healthy, motivated human. My Saturn Return would have me really face the music on what was the reality.
Over the past few years, as the dust settles from a very dramatic transformation through the end of my 20’s, I have had a bit of a spiritual reckoning that has caused me to ponder upon many of my life choices. This lead me to unfold into an entirely new area of discovery: understanding what a regulated nervous system feels like, how to support myself gently and create an environment where my body feels safe enough to bloom.
The beginning of my 30’s have felt like sitting on top of a mountain top after a difficult climb. Catching my breath and taking the chance to observe my life from a birds eye view.
Seeing my life from a distance, I realize that a lot of the personality traits I would describe myself as in my 20’s were manifestations of a dysregulated nervous system. And that if I am honest with myself, that dysregulated state has been my reality since I was 13 years old.
I have slowly dug myself out of the pit of extreme disassociation. Along the way, I have been tripped by the snags of self-abandonment in different forms. Each time I would recognize the pattern, tend to it gently, and begin healing, only to discover the same wound wearing a different face.
Healing is cyclical, it is not linear.
It was only when I fully removed myself from everything familiar that I could start to understand the true depth of what I was carrying. I entered the proverbial cave of isolation, ready to fully face my own shadows.
As I emerge from the cave, a question reveals itself that I am now finally ready to start uncovering.
“Who am I when I can fully ground into my body and act from the wisdom of my body?”
That is what I am exploring now. Being gentle with myself. Doing right by my nervous system. Listening to my body, acting from her guidance instead of forcing an outcome.
I am excited to fully meet myself.
Unarmoured and whole.
