AI Disclosure: I used chatGPT to help write this post based off of what I shared in the video (it’s basically a transcript but reader-friendly). I acknowledge the ethical and ecological concerns and impacts of AI and strive to be open about the use of this revolutionary and collaborative tool the way I would be if I had an editor or ghost writer.
There was a time in my life when sadness felt normal.
Waking up heavy-hearted, going to work, coming home so drained I couldn’t do anything but binge Netflix and eat whatever was around. I didn’t think about the future because there didn’t seem to be one. I didn’t have dreams or aspirations. Just the same day, on loop.
I thought that was life.
I thought it was normal to never feel alive.
To never look forward.
To live without joy.
To just… make it through.
And now? I am someone who is deeply, wildly in love with being alive.
I’m obsessed with life. With learning. With the miracle of being human and also spirit. With the mystery of what we are doing here on Earth for this brief, precious time.
I’m surrounded by people I genuinely care about. I have a stable, mission-driven job (it’s not my forever dream, but it feels purposeful). I make six figures—a reality no one in my family lineage would have imagined. So I’ve been asking myself… how did I get from there to here?
Because maybe if I look back with honesty and care, I’ll find something useful in the path. Maybe there’s some medicine there to offer. Not as advice. Just as truth.
I remember the turning point. It wasn’t neat or pretty. It wasn’t “a plan.” It was messy and real.
At my lowest, I was on seven prescriptions. I had a literal box of pills. And I was barely 25.
And then—life pivoted.
Not in some magical “one moment changed everything” way. But I did start raving. Not intentionally. Not as healing. Just… I fell into it after a string of pretty bad decisions. Decisions that hurt people. Ones I still carry with me.
But along the way, someone I hadn’t seen in a long time came back into my life and introduced me to “snacks” (I have to use code here because: internet). And that one experience cracked something open.
I had never felt anything like it before. And I’m not saying that’s the answer, but I can’t pretend it wasn’t part of the answer. It helped me feel—for the first time—something like love. In my body. Real and alive.
That was the beginning.
Between 2015 and 2019, I lived the rave life. Festivals. Road trips. Community. I dove into a world that felt like another dimension. A place where love was everywhere—sometimes amplified by the snacks, yes—but it was real. It was embodied. It touched something in me that had never been touched before.
It reminded me that the world I was taught to survive in… wasn’t the only world.
And when you’ve grown up without much love—from your parents, from your home—and you find yourself in a crowd of strangers all radiating love and acceptance, something happens. It rewires you.
I didn’t feel that kind of love growing up. My dad was in and out of prison and eventually deported. I stopped living with my mom at 13. There was a lot of pain. And I carried it. For a long time.
So when I say I felt love for the first time, I mean it.
It wasn’t all good, of course. Things spiraled. Too many snacks. Dependency. A couple years that started to blur into something not so healthy.
But I can’t ignore what that season of life gave me.
It gave me the visceral experience that this isn’t all there is. That the grind, the depression, the survival mode—it’s not the only thing that exists. It cracked my heart open, even if the journey afterward was long and hard.
And now, years later, I understand that some of those “snacks” were actually sacred. That they came from the Earth. That the Earth holds medicine, and that medicine can help us remember.
Not everyone will relate to this story. Not everyone should take the same path. I’m not advocating anything. I’m not romanticizing the hard parts. I’ve seen people lose themselves, seen what happens when there’s no integration, no support, no grounding.
But I’m also not going to pretend it didn’t happen. That it didn’t open a door.
I’ve resisted sharing this story for a long time. Partly because it’s vulnerable. Partly because of judgment, censorship, or fear. But I think this story—my story—might help someone out there remember that feeling lost isn’t the end of the story.
We are not alone.
The Earth remembers us, even when we forget ourselves.
And there is something more here.
I know it. I’ve felt it.
And if you’re reading this… maybe you’ve felt it too.
Thanks for being here.
Mystically,
Belle
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