How Leaving Survival Mode Changed Everything

I spent a lot of my life feeling stuck. Growing up with abuse and hoarding in my home, I carried survival in my body for years. It followed me into adulthood and into all of my relationships—especially one relationship that drained every ounce of joy I had left. I was always the outgoing, light-hearted one, but I reached a point where that part of me felt buried. I was looping through the same pain over and over, and I grew tired of it.

I remember the moment I knew I was done. We were driving, and someone cut him off on the road. He exploded with rage, and I just sat back in my seat and quietly asked myself, “When will I find someone who never gets angry?” I was so ready to move on from the anger that was present in my life day in and day out. That moment just confirmed how far I I was from the life and the peace my body longed for.

Embodied living wasn’t something I sought out on my own at first—it came to me when I met my current spouse. He just lived it. There was a calmness, a presence in him that felt like something I had always known deep down but never had language for. It felt like a mirror, showing me a version of myself I had always sensed was there, waiting to be explored.

At first, learning to live in this way felt both natural and challenging. Parts of it flowed—my body knew how to feel, to move, to be—but I was still holding onto so much from my past. The fear. The conditioning. The guilt of resting. The struggle of trusting my own pace after years of all the shit I went through.

But over time, things shifted. I started feeling more grounded, more alive, more me. I became more patient. I now parent with more clarity and softness. I trust myself. I trust my body. Now, embodied living isn’t something I practice occasionally—it’s the lens I live through. It shows up in how I move, how I rest, how I create. It's a way of living, not something I do in my free time.

Through Cedar & Earth Co., I pour that into the soaps I make. Scent becomes a way to breathe. Washing your hands becomes a moment to slow down and come home to your body. My self-care isn’t performative—it’s practical and intuitive. I notice when I need to move, to pause, to soften. And I let that guide how I show up—for myself, for others, and for my work.

Some days it’s breathwork. Some days it’s dance or music. But every day, I return to my body—not just for me, but for the women out there who never get the chance. For those who didn’t have the tools, the space, the safety. I live this way because I can. And because I know how deeply it heals.

If you’re interested in an embodied way of living, please know this... you’re not too late. You don’t need fancy tools or years of experience to feel the benefits. All you need is a moment. One breath. One choice to listen inward, even just for a second. That’s how it begins.