Meditation saved my life. And while that might sound dramatic, I promise it’s true. But this isn’t a story about perfection or discipline; it’s about coming back. Again and again.

I first met meditation through yoga in high school. I was an overcommitted teenager juggling AP classes, college courses, and extracurriculars. Meditation gave me 5–10 minute pockets of much-needed peace. But I let it go once the stress faded.

At 18, after a sudden cancer diagnosis, meditation found me again. This time, it helped me let go of some more intangible things: of anger, of control, of the form I thought my life was supposed to take. And again, once I felt better, I slipped away from the practice.

In my early 20s, life got dark. I was in remission, but living under the weight of addiction, working constantly, neglecting my body. When I realized I couldn’t keep going that way, I came back to meditation. Sitting with myself was painful… and also exactly what I needed.

It wasn’t magic, but it moved the needle. Stillness began to shape my days. I slowly found clarity, healing, sobriety. I returned to yoga. I started nourishing myself again. And this time, I stayed.

Since then, meditation has held me through so many chapters: miscarriage, motherhood, healing, heartbreak, expansion.

It’s no longer a tool I use. It’s a relationship I keep. A trellis my wild life can grow against.

If you’ve lost your practice, you can return to it. If you’ve never started, you can begin.

This is not a linear path. It’s a circle.

Let it hold you.