Over the weekend, I did something really brave—I joined the Maya Tuum gathering in Northern California. I almost didn’t go. The truth is, I was scared to go alone. I’ve gotten used to attending events with my soon-to-be ex-wife. This time, though, it was just me. That shift felt huge. It shook me. But something inside me still said, “Go.”

I had a work conflict that made the decision even harder—part of me wanted to back out, to use that as an excuse. But I didn’t. I honored the pull I felt, even though it meant juggling responsibilities and stepping out of my comfort zone. And honestly? I’m glad I did. It wasn’t easy, but it was healing.

The moment I arrived, anxiety clung to me like a shadow. Meeting new people felt overwhelming—I didn’t know how to show up, how to connect. I found myself fumbling a bit, trying to engage but not always knowing how. Still, I did it in my own way, at my own pace. The interpreters made communication accessible, and slowly, I started to breathe more freely.

I met the most beautiful humans—warm, open, and real. We shared our energies, our truths, our medicine—both literal and emotional. There were herbs and healing practices, and all of us came together in one big circle of intention. I meditated with the group, and something in me shifted.

My body began to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. I didn’t just cry—I wept. Deep, messy sobs, releasing years of grief and pain I’d been carrying quietly. It was raw. Honest. Unfiltered. A little terrifying. But so, so necessary.

And then… when I woke from that meditation, it was like the weight I’d been dragging behind me had vanished. My body was light. The ache in my chest? Gone. The grudge I didn’t even know I was still holding? Released. I cried again—but this time, because I was free.

There was this sense of connection too. I felt pulled to specific souls in that gathering—people I now hold close in my heart. Their presence helped me open up in ways I didn’t expect. I’m thankful for each of them.

Nature held me too. I walked through towering trees, under dappled light, following the song of the wind. Cascading falls whispered peace, and I could feel the vibration of the earth—the trees, the branches, the air itself. I saw hummingbirds, butterflies, and dragonflies, and in those moments, memories of my soon to be wife floated in gently. Not with pain, but with tenderness.

They weren’t just memories. They were reminders of love, of peace, of the joy that once was. I held them close, then let them go, smiling. I’m learning that it’s okay to let the past be a beautiful part of me without having to carry the ache of it anymore.

To the reader, if you’re still here—thank you.

And now I invite you to reflect too:

• Have you ever stepped into something new, even when it scared you?
• What pain or story have you been quietly holding in your body?
• What does it feel like—really feel like—to let go of something old, something heavy?
• Who in your life reminds you of peace? Of growth? Of the parts of you that survived?