I’m a cis, biracial, queer, Black woman. My pronouns are she/her and they/ them, and I live on the land of the Ohlone people, now called San Francisco, with my partner and our dog, a rescue pittie–blue heeler, that reminds me constantly of how trauma manifests in the body. I am a partner, daughter, auntie, friend, and bestie. In my professional work, I am a writer and cultural somatics practitioner, mindfulness guide, astrology nerd, and numerologist working alongside powerful, insightful, inspiring, creative, strategic, and thoughtful women of color. I am a lifelong dancer, burgeoning Hoodoo practitioner, Buddhist, bomb-ass chef, and a joiner. My work is politicized, and I prefer to be in relationships with bodies for whom the words “patriarchy,” “colonization,” and “racialized capitalism” are not feather-ruffling.

I did not grow up in a politicized household. The words “diversity” and “equity” did not roll off my tongue. My family did not discuss race. My formative years were spent surrounded by whiteness in a small suburb outside of Salt Lake City. My father is Black, my mother is white, and to my peers, I was “weird.” My family also isn’t Mormon, a faith that centers family gatherings and community activity far beyond the Sunday service. As a teen, I subconsciously tried to minimize my Blackness, shellacking my hair into a tight ponytail and listening to alternative music. I believed that if I wore the right clothes, liked the right things, and spoke the right way, I would fit in. I internalized my inability to belong as something faulty within myself. I learned how to perform what I was “supposed to be”: cheerful, friendly, smart, athletic.

I identify as a joiner, someone who loves to be part of a group. I was a Girl Scout. I was in the school choir, a cheerleader, a drama nerd, on the youth city council. I joined the Earth Club yelling alongside others, “Who’s your mother!” to baffled neighbors in our small town’s homecoming parade. I didn’t realize that in all my moving around and jumping in and out of organizations, I was searching for something. My learned skill of becoming who others wanted me to be served me well for being invited in. It did not offer so much in knowing who I was.

I still remember the words of my first meditation instructor: “This practice has made me more who I am than anything else.” I didn’t know how much I longed for that until I heard it. This was my introduction to Shamatha meditation at the Boulder Shambhala Center, a Buddhist lineage established by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. In that first five- minute session, and many sessions after, I was flooded with anxiety. I couldn’t place why or from what, and I was curious. I started to see how my anxiety had been with me for a long time and, like a canary in a coal mine, it told me something honest about my history and my present. I started listening to my body.

This pivotal experience led me to the study of somatics, learning more about the wisdom of my body through the practice of InterPlay and training at the Strozzi Institute. The more I dropped below my head and followed my body, the more myself I felt. I gradually began to make bolder decisions in my work and life. I left Boulder after honestly reflecting on the question, “What does my body want?” The answer was clear: ocean. I moved to the Bay Area and felt for the first time that I could fully be a part of the kind of community I longed for. With willing and dedicated volunteers, I founded a meditation community in Oakland, co-launched a class teaching somatics to artists and activists, published a viral article on the need for BIPOC-only spaces, began teaching somatics in corporate and nonprofit spaces to Black and brown folks, and started coaching women of color to connect to their body’s own liberatory wisdom. This work culminated in the online course “Decolonizing the Body,” which brings together somatics and spiritual and creative practices for personal and collective liberation.

It’s about learning to trust what your body is pointing you toward—even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s about being in the practice of liberation by revealing and reclaiming more of your full self. Take a moment, take a breath, and if you’re ready, let’s cross this threshold together. I’m happy to have you by my side. I hope you feel me at yours.