The Ego Check

I offer a story, a relationship to ego from an unexpected angle, I suppose.

I have always understood my worth and identity through the profound beauty of belonging—to family, to community, to something greater than myself. The foundation of my existence was built on the grounds of a shared life, nurtured by a deeply connected village. I grew up in a home where love was abundant but unspoken, where art and creativity weren’t just hobbies but a way of being.

When people ask me, “So, what do you do?” or “What do you do for a living?” I freeze. It’s the worst question anyone can ask me. Inside, my truth is clear: I create. I organize. I build—with people, for people. I create space for them to feel deeply and become more free. But what comes out instead is hesitation, a loss for words, and then a clumsy list of roles and titles that never quite capture the essence of what I am or what I do. Because the truth is, I have never been just one thing—I am the sum of the stories I hold, the spaces I shape, and the people who have shaped me.

Growing up, I was the middle child of 14 cousins, raised together, mostly under one roof. Our world was built on collective care. It was art, movement, and music that raised us, just as much as our elders did. It makes sense, then, that my life’s work—no matter the role, no matter the setting—has always been about creating and always about community. I am a conduit for energy, a holder of space, an bridge builder between Spirit and Earth realms. Everything I do is rooted in honoring the unseen and unheard, making room for others to share their truth and to be truly acknowledged.

But here’s the thing: as much as creativity shaped me, childhood trauma silenced me. Despite being raised in a dance studio, learning piano, and having every opportunity to develop as an artist, I spent years shrinking myself, diverting all my energy into blending in. I carried a secret so heavy that it pulled me inward, making invisibility my survival. To stand out felt dangerous. So, I didn’t. Instead, I poured all my admiration into my brother—his talent was undeniable, his presence magnetic. He could move a room, and in his light, I found a place to hide.

My identity became tightly wrapped in the comfort of shared existence. Even as I grew, I sought safety in togetherness—clinging to my older cousin’s path, choosing a career in social justice not simply out of passion but because it was familiar, because it kept me connected. But spirit has a way of calling us forward, of breaking us open. Over time, something within me longed for separateness—not to abandon my roots, but to know myself beyond them.

This is where I first truly encountered ego—not as something to suppress, but as something to understand. Separating myself, allowing myself to be seen, was and still is terrifying. But it was also necessary. While so many people heal by moving toward community, I had to heal by stepping out from within it. Engaging my ego felt confusing, even painful, but it was a tool I needed to break free from the fear that had kept me small.

I am still unraveling. Still remembering who I am outside of belonging. Still learning that I can stand on my own without losing the village that raised me. My work—my life—is about bridging these worlds: the collective and the individual, the hidden and the seen, the silent and the heard, the Spirit Realm and this Earthly plane. And maybe the next time someone asks, “What do you do?” I’ll finally find the words.

I am a bridge.

I steward people along their journeys to return to themselves, the land, and their expansive truth.