As my time in Morocco comes to an end, I find myself filled with reflection and so many mixed emotions.
Morocco hit me like a ton of bricks.
There was no gentle easing in. The moment I arrived, I felt powerful. Two blog posts ago, I wrote about finally arriving—not just physically in a place, but emotionally and spiritually. I felt confident, more me than I had ever been. My creative energy was overflowing—I wanted to create, explore, guide, teach, and inspire.
A Spark Ignited
It was during this time that I developed The Remembering Path—my spiritually guided intentional travel program that helps others come back to their true selves and rediscover purpose.
It was here that I:
- Led my very first Full Moon Circle
- Initiated my first Reiki Healing session
- Guided my first meditation
- Facilitated my first breathwork session
- Held space for my first ice bath ceremony, paired with pranayama
So many firsts. So many doors flung wide open. I embraced each opportunity fully, feeling them deep in my body with a sense of ease, peace, and alignment—like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Desert meditation and self-reflection
Then Came the Shift
And then… something changed. The wind shifted.
I met someone who mirrored me back to myself in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Through that reflection, I was forced to face some uncomfortable truths.
One of the biggest realizations?
I don’t easily confront my own emotions.
I bury them.
I smile through the pain.
I move on.
People have often called me strong, and I never really understood it. I didn’t feel strong. But now I see what they were seeing: someone who kept going, no matter what. But I know now that what looked like strength was often avoidance. I was hiding. Ignoring. Pretending everything was okay while my inner self was screaming to be heard.
Redefining Strength
I thought being “strong” meant proving my worth by pushing through pain.
I know now that was never strength.
It was fear. It was conditioning.
Some of it came from childhood. Some from society. And some from generational patterns passed down quietly—without blame, without intent. My family loves me deeply—we said it often in the past, and still say it now—but we’ve never really talked about our emotions.
Back then—and I mean generations before my parents—survival often required rougher edges and thicker skin. Vulnerability wasn’t safe, so it wasn’t modeled. I imagine my parents never saw emotional openness from their parents, and so they didn’t learn how to offer it.
And then it came to me.
And that legacy continues… until someone chooses to break the cycle.
Self-discovery and healing in Morocco
Finally Facing Myself
The truth is: you can’t know yourself until you allow yourself to feel.
Until you look your emotions in the eye.
Until you confront your shadows.
And I don’t want to walk through this life not knowing who I really am.
So, I’m doing the work.
I’m turning inward.
I’m feeling it all.
I cry often now.
I laugh harder.
I allow myself to feel low—and instead of pushing it down, I ask why?
Where is this really coming from?
What would 8-year-old me say?
What would 80-year-old me say?
What would my higher self choose?
The Inner Critic Has Been Loud
I’m also learning to love myself more. Slowly, and intentionally.
It’s not easy. The inner critic has had decades of practice. I didn’t realize how cruel I had been to myself until I wrote it all down one day in my journal. What an eye-opener.
I would never say those things to anyone else. So why was I saying them to myself?
Try it—write down the thoughts you have throughout one day. Even half a day.
It’s painful to witness.
But it woke me up. I knew then that I needed to soften. To be kinder. To celebrate myself. To show myself love. To tell myself that I am enough—as I am. Unconditionally. And unapologetically.
And when the old voices creep in, I’m learning to catch them. To speak my truth instead.
The Lows Were Deep
Truth be told, the lows here in Morocco were really low.
Of course, I didn’t show it on social media. I need to be better about that. It’s hard to post when you’re feeling vulnerable. When you’re crying alone in your room or dragging yourself on a tour just to feel something again.
There were days I wanted to disappear. To be held. To be told that it would all be okay.
But I didn’t have that here. So I gave it to myself.
I held myself.
I cried into my own arms.
I listened to myself.
And sometimes it felt like pulling teeth to get to the truth—because I’d buried it so deeply. But when it finally surfaced, it was like a light switch.
Of course that’s why I feel this way.
How did I not see this sooner?
Because I didn’t want to feel the pain.
Because I thought vulnerability was weakness.
Because I thought strength meant silence.
Solo female traveler inner journey
A New Era
But I’m in a new era now.
And Morocco stripped me bare.
Maybe it was the rawness of the desert, the wild wind of the coast, or the open-hearted Moroccan people…
I don’t know exactly what it was.
But something cracked me open.
Joy in Motion
One thing I’ll never forget is how the Moroccan people sing and dance—with no alcohol.
Just joy.
Just spirit.
Just life moving through their bodies.
The first night I arrived in Dakhla, the local staff at my volunteer site were dancing freely around a bonfire. Not one of them had a drink in hand. I wanted to join, but I reached for a beer first—needing something to loosen me up.
Why couldn’t I just dance because I wanted to dance?
I’m still working on that.
But these people… they’ll pull you into their joy, no matter who you are. Even the kitchen staff came flying out, hairnets and all, to leap into the circle.
I want to live like that.
I want to move freely.
To be unashamed of feeling joy in my body.
Pure joy through music and movement in Morocco
Morocco Changed Me
This country opened me in ways I never expected.
This is just one small story—but it changed me.
So, that was my last 11 weeks in Morocco:
A whirlwind of emotions.
A season of deep soul work.
A time of meeting beautiful people, learning beautiful lessons, and seeing the possibilities of a different life.
Travel did this to me.
Morocco did this to me.
The people I met—and the man I cared for and lost—did this to me.
But none of it was done to me.
I know, in my heart, that it was all done for me.
The Universe orchestrated every little piece to help me see the light.
And isn’t that the point?
To come out of the darkness…
Little by little…
And so I continue—
Wandering, remembering, becoming.
Toward that radiant light within and beyond.
Always, and forever.
As long as it takes.
