This Is How I Return

A Living Testament to Ancestral Wisdom, Sacred Complexity, and Self-Compassion

Lately, I’ve been sitting with the quiet question of what it means to truly be here.

Not just to know who I am, but to embody it. It means showing up with an open heart, grounded in compassion, and rooted in humility.

Humility, for me, isn’t about shrinking, it’s about presence. It’s about walking into spaces knowing I bring something of value to the table; my lived experience, my questions, my ways of seeing, while staying open enough to learn from others.

That balance has been my teacher.

So has compassion, especially the kind I’ve had to learn to offer myself.

There’s been growth in learning about my lineage. Growth in grieving what I didn’t know. Growth in finding joy in finally being ready to lean in. I feel the pulse of my ancestors, those who held wisdom in their bones, those who endured the unthinkable, those whose stories I’m only just beginning to remember.

And still, I don’t apologize for who I am. Not for the skin I’m in. Not for the roots that run deep in worlds both colonized and colonizer. It’s complex. It’s powerful. And it’s mine.

There is pride in being the descendant of African, Puerto Rican, and Irish ancestors. There is magic in the mingling of those legacies. I’m learning to honor the tension and the tenderness.

The struggle and the sacred.

The grief and the gold.

My spirituality doesn’t look like what I was taught. And yet, it feels more true than anything I’ve ever known.

Each ritual, each moment of reverence, each breath that connects me to what’s unseen, it all feels like a return.

This journey of becoming, of remembering, of embodying, of being—isn’t linear.

But it’s mine.

And it’s beautiful.