The Story of A Seeking Yogini

At the height of my career as an interior designer, I had everything I was supposed to want — a successful business, my work featured in publications, and personal goals checked off one by one. I had a beautiful family, a supportive husband of 22 years, and a radiant son. By all outward appearances, I was winning at life.

But inside, something was unraveling.

The more I achieved, the more I acquired, the more hollow it all began to feel. A numbness took root in my soul — a quiet desensitization that no accolade or possession could touch. I had forgotten what it felt like to believe in magic, in mystery. I had disconnected from nature… from myself.

In a moment of quiet rebellion against everything I was taught to value, I said yes to an ayahuasca retreat alone. That week changed everything. Plant medicine didn't just open a door; it tore the ground from beneath me and gently placed me on new, unfamiliar soil. I saw life through different eyes. While beautiful, the life I’d built suddenly felt short-sighted, even synthetic. I had lost the thread of the mystical, the authentic, the wild.

I remembered the barefoot child in me, the one who once wanted to run through forests with twigs in her hair, eating wild fruit, and dancing under the stars. And I saw how far I’d strayed — from the sun for fear of UV rays, from the soil because it dried my skin, from the night because of bugs. I had armored myself from everything that once called my soul home.

The return from that journey was jarring. I fell into a quiet depression. My possessions felt petty. My closet full of designer bags and shoes felt… repulsive. I no longer wanted to consume — I tried to connect. To feel. To remember.

I began to search for truth, purpose, and something real. I read, wandered, and met mystics, shamans, and gurus. I stood barefoot in sacred places across the world—temples, vortexes, pilgrimage sites. I changed my diet, lifestyle, and rhythm. I let go of the artificial and returned to the natural. Slowly, I began to remember who I was.

That is how A Seeking Yogini was born.

This is not just my journey—it is a path for all who feel the call. It is for those tired of the noise and hungry for meaning, for those who have everything yet feel something is missing, for those who remember the wild within them and are ready to reclaim it.

This space is a home for seekers, for the curious, the courageous, and the questioning. Together, we shift from being owners to being wanderers, from accumulation to awakening, from numbness to presence.

This is the quest of a Seeking Yogini.

Will you walk with me?