The Threshold is You

The threshold is not somewhere you arrive.
It’s something you become.
This isn’t about stepping into a new space, it’s about realizing the temple was always within you.
The Threshold is You.
Welcome to your becoming.

Take a moment to close your eyes…
Let your breath deepen.
Inhale… feel the crown of your head reaching gently toward the sky.
Exhale… feel your tailbone soften toward the Earth.
Place your hands on your heart…
And if it feels true, whisper with me:
“I stand at the threshold of sovereignty.
I am not here to perform - I am here to become.
I do not just serve - I offer my presence.
I am the temple.
My life is the altar.
My presence is the prayer.”
Let that settle.
Let it begin.

✧ Transmission / Teaching
There was a time when I believed I had to earn my place,
that love was conditional, and worth had to be proven through strength, brilliance, or going above and beyond for those that wouldn’t do the same for me.
I learned early that presence alone wasn’t enough, that simply surviving was all life seemed to be.
Especially as a child born of rupture…
raised by a single mother who had crossed borders, burned bridges, and buried dreams just to survive.
My mother did what she could with what she had.
A woman who once rode horses on her family’s land, dreaming of freedom, of living with the land, and being a rancher like her father…
until that land was stolen/sold out from under them by other members of the family when she was just ten years old.
That loss broke something in her.
The girl who once belonged to the Earth became the woman exiled from her own life, moved to the city, a life she never wanted.

And still, decades later, she mothered me through fire and scarcity and silence.
But survival is not the same as safety.
And while she fought to keep us alive, there were betrayals buried in the roots.
I was not told the truth about my father.
I was shaped around a silence, secrets buried.
I was raised with a name that did not belong to me,
while the man who helped bring me here chose to hide my existence.
Even now, I remain a secret he is still not ready to claim.
And so I learned, young, that belonging could be taken.
That truth could be withheld.
That I had to become useful, resilient, palatable…
if I wanted to be worthy of love.
I often felt unworthy. Discarded. Unimportant.
Like I was always on the outside, even when I was right there in the room.
So I did what many sensitive, attuned daughters do,
I learned how to give, how to become what was needed to stay safe, to hold others and their needs while sacrificing my own.
I became masterful at curating light, at showing up strong, capable, resilient, the rock for others to lean on. Taking it upon myself to just do it all. At least then I could control the outcome.
But inside, I was fractured.
Carrying both my mother’s grief and my own.
No one had ever taught me how to offer reverence to myself—
because no one had ever offered it to her.
Especially as a child growing up on the edge of belonging…
longing to be claimed by a father who still cannot say, “You are mine,”
and drifting through a family landscape that felt more like distance than home.
And over time, I started to feel hollow.
Like the temple was beautiful… but empty.
Like I had forgotten to place anything sacred on the altar.
But something changed, not in a dramatic moment, but in the stillness.
After years of shape-shifting, over-serving, and silencing my deeper ache,
I found myself raw, stripped of performance, exhausted from trying to be enough.
And in that silence, something ancient stirred.
I placed my hands on my own skin, not to fix, but to bless.
The day I wept over the ache of being unchosen, unseen, unclaimed,
and chose to see myself anyway.
I began to ask: What if my worth doesn’t depend on how I give…
but on how I see myself as sacred? On how authentic I can show up and be myself, no performance, but authentic presence?
And I heard a truth rise from the root of me:
You were never unworthy. You were always sacred. You were always protected.

That was the threshold.
Not the moment I became radiant, but the moment I stopped abandoning myself.
Not a journey from emptiness to fullness,
but from seeking to honoring.
The moment I chose to walk a new path, not just of healing,
but of remembering what no one else had the language to say:
I am sacred.
I am not a secret.
I am not here to survive, I am here to live in devotion to myself.

To remember that this body was not something to use or offer for others’ comfort.
It was already sacred. It was already the altar.
That was the beginning of a deeper initiation.
Not just being radiant, but refining that radiance into something real.
Not just shining, but honoring.
Not just being seen, but rooting in every step.
This was when I laid down performance and picked up presence.
From inspiration to embodiment.
From knowing you're sacred… to living like you are.
It’s one thing to remember who you are,
and another to walk that truth through your everyday life.
It’s not about perfection.
Refinement is not performance.
Refinement is devotion.
It’s the breath you take before speaking.
The care you bring to the way you make your tea.
The energy you hold as you send that email, or wash that dish, or light that candle.
It’s about presence.
When we say, “I do not just serve, I offer my presence,”
we are reclaiming the truth that my life is ceremony.
That service isn’t a task, it’s a sacred expression of who I am.
We offer meaning to the moment, not by doing more… but by doing with care. With rooted presence, with devotion to self.
Because there is a kind of radiance that comes from being seen.
And another kind, quieter, deeper, that comes from being rooted.
From turning your life into the temple you were always meant to embody.

Let’s pause for a moment and move this into your body.
If you’re able, gather a small amount of oil, water, or simply your own hands.
You’re invited to join me in a short Temple Body Anointing.
Begin by placing your fingers gently on your forehead.
Whisper: “This mind is a temple.”
Touch your lips: “These words are sacred.”
Rest your hands on your heart: “This heart is the altar.”
Lower to your womb or belly: “This center is holy.”
Place your palms together: “These hands create in devotion.”
And finally, touch your feet or the Earth beneath you: “Every step I take is sanctified.”
Take a breath.
Let yourself feel the truth of what you just said.
Choose one act today, brushing your hair, cooking a meal, writing a note, and do it as ritual.
Speak aloud:
“This is sacred. I offer it with presence. I serve the temple of my becoming.”

✧ The Mirror
Let this episode become a mirror.
Ask yourself:
• Where in my life have I been performing instead of embodying?
• What would shift if I treated the ordinary as sacred?
• How would my days feel if I lived as the temple I truly am?
You might journal.
You might voice note.
You might simply walk differently today.
Whatever comes, honor it. That’s your becoming.

✧ Mother the Future

As we close, I invite you to extend this beyond yourself.
Think of one person who quietly serves with love.
Who doesn’t seek the spotlight, but who radiates presence and care.
Light a candle for them today.
Speak their name.
Bless their devotion.
When we see the sacred in each other, we mother the future.

✧ Closing Vow

Let’s seal this space together.
Hand to heart.
“I do not just serve, I offer my presence.
I do not just move, I remember.
I am the temple.
I walk as sacred structure.”
Let that vow echo through you.
A breath in...
A breath out...

Thank you for walking through this threshold with me.
Your presence is a blessing.
And this is just the beginning.
May your next step be sacred.