Marking One Year

the discipline of showing up

This month of April marks just over a year since I made my first post—twelve posts over fourteen months.

Art of Alchemy began as my attempt to create a space I had always longed for in my own healing journey.

I wanted sacred, spacious connection with other souls on similar paths—connections rooted in honesty, curiosity, depth, and a shared understanding that none of us are broken or in need of fixing. And with the underlying tone being a tender, loving, kind space—one where all parts of ourselves, whether wounded, joyful, or sorrowful, can rest.

When I first started this Substack, I wasn’t sure I could keep showing up.
I really wanted to.

But the thought of sharing vulnerably—of being seen—was both exhilarating and terrifying. It still is.

Thank you to each person who has shown up and joined me here, and has shared this year with me.

As I mark this last year, I’ve also been reflecting on the year ahead—for this Substack and for my own unfolding. My birthday is in March, and I tend to mark the beginning of the year from there. This year, I’m moving into a cycle that feels rooted in presence—in softening into my body, allowing it to unfold, and choosing to meet life as it comes.

I invite you into that process with me.

What I always return to—both in Chinese medicine and Daoist practice—is the way these traditions guide us back to embodiment. To living in rhythm with the natural world. To attuning to what’s within, rather than overriding it.

One of the things that motivated me to begin writing here was my belief in the healing power of stories. Some of the most transformative moments in my life have come through the gift of someone else’s honesty—their willingness to speak what was true. Their stories helped me see myself differently. They opened up new ways of moving through the world.

This Substack has been my way of throwing my hat in the ring—of saying:
Here I am. I’m showing up.

What I’ve learned over this year is that healing doesn’t only come from receiving stories— it comes from sharing mine.

From returning, post after post, even when it’s slow. Even when I’m scared.

This space lets me move at a pace that feels real—slow, deep, and attuned to what happens in the intersections. Because so much of this human experience lives there.

And so much in our culture doesn’t make room for the slow, the still, the vulnerable.

So we must create that space for ourselves, and for each other.

It is a discipline.
A practice.
To show up as we are.

As I mark year two of this Substack experiment, I want to go another layer deeper. My old pattern would be to map out a clear schedule—month by month, perfectly planned. And while there’s value in that, the alchemy I’m living now is in softening. In allowing things to unfold.

It’s a radical act of trust.
Not just in myself and my ability to flow with life—but in the kindness, intelligence, and presence of the Divine that holds us all.

My son recently told me that I don’t laugh enough.
The life I’m embedded in is my teacher. And to soften, I have to be willing to see and feel the places in my body where I hold perfectionism, rigidity, hypervigilance.
To stop scanning the horizon for danger.
To welcome more laughter.

This is the alchemy.
Not fixing. Not erasing. Not transcending.

But peeling back the layers, the coverings, and taking a quiet look underneath.
Taking time to notice.
And staying with each part as it emerges.

This is where transformation begins.

We’re approaching three years since Andrés died. Three years into a cycle that—beginning in May—marks our wedding anniversary, his birthday, the day he died, Gabriel’s birthday, and many quiet thresholds in between.

In many ways, this Substack is a continuation of something I shared with him.
Andrés was my partner in all things spiritual—Qi Gong, Chinese medicine, herbal medicine, inner alchemy, Daoist mysticism. We had a shared language and we accompanied each other in the midst of what is usually a solitary journey.

One of the things I miss most about his physical presence is having a companion in these practices.
So this space is also an honoring.
A living dialogue with him, with all that shaped me, and with all that continues to grow through me now.

In the midst of all of this, I can feel the green shoots returning—
life beginning to rise again in ways I almost didn’t dare hope for.

I have new offerings coming soon in this space, which I’ll be introducing in a separate email to you.

I’m excited to continue this journey over the next year.
And I hope you’ll keep walking with me.

Thank you for being here.