We often think of healing as a gentle pursuit—of running through flowered fields, effortlessly practicing yoga and journaling in the sunlight.

But, in truth, healing is one of the most raw, rebellious, and purposeful actions we can take in our lifetime.

It is dark nights of the soul, delving into the most hidden parts of our psyche, holding our delicate hearts in our hands and trying to nurture the broken parts, seeing our damaged ancestral lines and facing being cast out from our known tribe because we are taking a pathway that may be too confronting for them.

There are many that do not want to dive into the oceans of their soul, or perhaps they do not have the ability to swim. It is not our role to force them to swim, only to let them be.

Healing can mean days dominated by anxiety, disappointed tears, the furious scribbling of words on page after page and laying disconnected in bed way beyond when we were supposed to be engaging with the day.

And then there are some days when it all makes sense, clarity finds us, and we realize why we chose this hard road in the first place.

We’ve experienced non-acceptance to a painful extent, and so we learnt how to fit into our tribe by minimizing who we really are—like wearing a corset that squeezes uncomfortably against our bones, suffocating our authenticity.

We learnt that we are shunned by some, or by many, for daring to remove our own damaged constructs of survival, and letting our messy, imperfect, beautiful selves be glimpsed.

“I don’t want to know that” is a sentence that echoes hurtfully in our ears. They are saying “they don’t want to know us,” but why don’t we have enough value to be known?

So, we fawned and tiptoed around just to be offered crumbs of acceptance. We hushed our mouths and folded ourselves up as small as possible, like a little origami girl trying to stay safe by not being noticed. Our tribe may pretend not to see how bent out of shape we are, or perhaps they just do not have the awareness to know any different.

This way of life is exhausting. But I see you, and the universe sees you.

Yet, despite all this…

We have the fire—once just a tiny spark somewhere deep in our bellies—that can no longer be kept small. It burns bright with awareness and the sudden, needed breath of oxygen to burn away the illusions. The fire carries the energy and strength from the healers of our predecessors, the one’s who also chose to rebel.

We choose to believe that strength lies within the mess, when those around us are choosing painted smiles and ignorance. For us, it became too unbearable to live amongst the masks.

We reflect on the person we were, and the person we are becoming, sometimes getting stuck in a web of the in-between, the void between shedding skins.

We choose not to carry forth oppression to our future generations. Instead, we rebel against living in ancestral trauma. Our seeds of creation are the evolution of humanity, and we are the fertile soil where they can thrive and not be engulfed by the weeds of the past.

We choose better for our children: safety, validation, value, space to grow in authenticity.

Our words, once silenced, still dry up on our tongues at times because the pain of being misunderstood, ignored, or even punished for our truths still hang thick, like vines trying to tightly twine around our conscious minds.

But even if it’s weak and barely a whisper, with every vibration of each shaky word that says, “No, I am not doing this anymore,” we create change.

And sometimes, there are moments when we we can howl at the moon with all the might of a thousand silenced voices in our ancestry. The sound bursts forth, calling our true wolf pack to us, our real community—our Sangha.

With each wobbly step, like a baby giraffe learning to walk, we pave the way to healing. When we fall over, we get up again, and when it is impossible to walk, we drag ourselves through the mud.

It’s been tough, I know—the universe knows.

We allow sorrow to guide us barefoot through the dark forest, with only the hope of a hermit’s lantern visible somewhere through the shadows. At times it feels hopeless: Are we too broken? Is our bravery misguided?

And then, we see the light.

The light of truth and authenticity, the light guiding us forward, and the light left behind us from trailblazing, like sparks from a firework—visible for others to follow. We hold the lantern ourselves now, like other rebels did before for us. We are the guide and the hope, without even realizing it.

We chose growth, we chose to rip our chests open and pick out the thorns of trauma, bathing our wounds in understanding and acceptance. By doing so, we find fellow rebels that see us as we see them.

This is the gift that lies in rebellion: I see you—the universe sees you.

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