Somewhere along the way, we learned to adapt, to become who we needed to be to belong, to be accepted, to feel safe. And in that process, we didn’t lose ourselves—we forgot ourselves. Not completely, but just enough to feel the density, the disconnection, and the ache of knowing that something within us is still waiting to come home. That truth of that home was never lost. It lives within our cells, our field, our breath—waiting not to be found by an external savior, but reawakened from our inner remembrance.