Rooted Reflections is a collection of grounded wisdom, seasonal practices, and soul-aligned insights. These writings are meant to nourish your nervous system, inspire inner balance, and reconnect you to the cycles of nature and your own deep knowing.
Unbecoming: A Return to Remembering
What if the journey isn’t about becoming anything at all?
What if the path isn’t upward or outward—but inward and downward—
into the soil of the soul,
into the heart of remembering?
Not a race toward some perfected version of self,
but a soft and sacred unraveling.
A peeling back.
A letting go.
A falling in.
Because the truth is:
You are not here to become something.
You are here to unbecome everything you are not.
Everything the world told you to be.
Everything you thought you had to be to feel safe, or loved, or enough.
The tight smiles.
The armor.
The striving.
The shrinking.
The pretending.
You were never meant to carry it all.
We come into this life as love—
pure and soft and knowing—
and then, slowly, we forget.
We forget our light.
We forget our wild.
We forget how to trust the quiet whispers within.
We forget the sacredness of simply being.
But unbecoming...
Unbecoming is remembering.
It’s remembering the way your body speaks in sensation and shiver.
It’s remembering the soul beneath the scars.
The breath beneath the story.
The You beneath the you you’ve been told to be.
Unbecoming is not a performance.
It is a prayer.
A gentle laying down of all that is no longer yours to carry.
A bow to the versions of you that helped you survive—
and an honoring release as you step into something more real.
Not new.
Just ancient.
Just you.
So how do we remember?
We sit in stillness.
We feel what we once ran from.
We let our tears do the sacred washing.
We soften our grip.
We follow the threads of truth that tug quietly at our chest.
We breathe.
We breathe again.
We walk barefoot back into our own hearts,
and we listen.
And we listen deeper.
Until one day…
we remember:
We are not broken.
We are not too much.
We are not behind.
We are not the masks we wear.
We are love, embodied.
We are ancient wisdom wrapped in skin.
We are divine remembering in motion.
May we all have the courage to unbecome.
To unwind.
To unravel.
To return.
And may that return feel like Home.
Ready to Remember?
If something in you is whispering yes... follow it.
Book your private yoga journey, schedule a bodywork session, or come sit with us in sacred circle.
This is the path of unbecoming—of returning to the truth beneath it all.
Let’s walk it together.
Let’s come home.
Fascia: The Mycelium of the Body—A Love Letter to Your Inner Web
Beneath your skin, beneath your muscles, beneath the stories your body holds, there is a vast, shimmering network—one that listens, responds, and connects every part of you in an intricate, intelligent weave. This is fascia. It is not just tissue; it is the whispered conversation between your cells, the messenger of movement, the weaver of sensation.
If the forests have mycelium—those underground threads that nourish, communicate, and sustain life—then the body has fascia, an endless river of silk that pulses with memory, emotion, and intelligence.
A Web of Wholeness
Imagine a spider’s web, glistening with dew, stretching in all directions. If you tug one thread, the whole structure shifts. This is fascia. It wraps around your muscles, bones, and organs, not as separate pieces, but as one unified system. It is the silent architect of your posture, the unseen conductor of your movement, the quiet keeper of your pain and healing.
Like the mycelium beneath the earth, fascia is alive with communication. It senses when you stretch, when you contract, when you hold onto tension like an old song stuck in your head. It adapts. It responds. And, most beautifully, it can change.
Softening the Stories We Carry
Fascia is not just structure; it is memory. It holds the shape of your life—every fall, every embrace, every moment of stillness and strain. A clenched jaw, a tight shoulder, a lower back that seems to always ache—these are not just “issues.” They are echoes, messages from a body that is waiting to be heard.
But here is the gift: fascia is not fixed. Like mycelium, it regenerates, renews, and reroutes when given the right nourishment—movement, breath, hydration, love.
To touch your fascia is to touch something ancient within you. To move it with intention is to rewrite old stories.
Tending to Your Inner Web
So, how do you care for this sacred mycelial network within?
Move like water. Long, fluid movements—like yoga, stretching, and intuitive dance—help fascia stay hydrated and supple.
Breathe into your being. Slow, deep breaths expand the web of fascia, allowing stuck energy to soften.
Hydrate with love. Fascia is thirsty. Drink water, but also absorb life—sunlight, fresh air, nourishing foods.
Feel with presence. Fascia listens. When you touch it—through massage, foam rolling, or mindful movement—it responds. Offer it kindness, and it will melt beneath your hands.
A Love Note to Your Body
Your body is not a collection of parts. It is a symphony, a forest, a mycelial web of wonder. Your fascia is the quiet magic holding it all together, whispering, you are whole, you are connected, you are alive.
So move, stretch, breathe. Speak to your fascia as you would to an old friend. It has been holding you your entire life. Maybe today, you hold it back.
Want to go deeper?
If this resonates with you, let’s take it further. Whether it’s through a personalized bodywork session, a fascia-focused yoga practice, or just a deeper conversation about how you move through the world, I’m here for it. Reach out, book a session, or let’s chat. Your body is talking—let’s listen together.