My Story - The Table that Remembered Me
There's a moment I keep coming back to when I think about why I do this work. It was summer 2016 in Albuquerque. I was at the University of New Mexico for a two-week program on traditional Curanderismo healing practices. Walking into that first classroom, I wasn't sure what I expected. Then I walked past a table covered in herbs, oils, incense and small glass bottles. And I stopped, held my breath, then exhaled for a second, then breathed in the scents of the table. My grandmother's house came back to me. The smell of it. The sounds. My cousins and my brother and me as children watching the adults do the things their parents had taught them. Healing practices that were just part of how our family lived. How our people had always lived. I had been practicing healing for a couple of years by then. But I had been doing it quietly. Still convincing myself I needed more before I could really show up. That table showed me something I hadn't been able to see on my own. That table remembered me. The healing I was reaching toward was never outside me. It had been inside me my whole life. In my blood, in my family, in traditions that go back thousands of years. I wasn't discovering something new. I was returning to something old. And belonging, which had always felt like something I had to go find and earn and prove, was never out there either. It had always been inside, waiting for me to stop running from it. This is the story I want to start telling here, how I came back to myself, and what that made possible. I'd love to know: is there something in your own lineage, your own history, your own body, that you've been circling around but not quite claiming? Drop it in the comments. This community is a safe place to name it.