Spiritual Bypassing in the Sacred Valley, Peru

Sometimes the body tells the truth before we do.

They say traveling gets you out of your comfort zone —
that new places can shake things loose, change your routine, open your mind.
I believe that.

But I also think traveling well is a skill.
It takes practice to move through the world light and free.

That’s still something I’m learning.

I’ll never forget the first time I traveled alone since getting married— summer of 2020, Hawai‘i.
I went to have my first dieta with plant medicine, Bobinsana.
Medicine people move through the world with full hearts and light bags.
Meanwhile, I stepped off the plane with a heart full of grief and sorrow
and a heavy suitcase rolling behind me.
I remember looking around thinking, something is different here.

A Second Chance at Traveling Light

In the summer of 2023, I got a second chance.
My partner and I said yes to spending almost four weeks in Peru with friends.
Most of our time was in the Sacred Valley, with a few days in Cusco on either end.
We felt supported — like Spirit wanted us there.

What I didn’t know then was that this trip would show me all the places I wasn’t yet free.
It was before I really knew what embodiment meant.
Before I knew what it felt like to be safe in my body.
My nervous system was still living out old patterns.
I moved small. I wore masks. I told myself I was fine — spiritual even —
but really, I was scared to be real.

I was spiritually bypassing.

Holding Two Truths

It’s wild how two things can be true at once.
I was having the most incredible experiences — beautiful land, kind people, big heart moments —
and at the same time, I felt completely alone.

We were in the dry season: warm sunny days, cold nights.
Rustic bunkhouse built of mud and wood.
Thin walls.
One electric-heated shower for eight of us.
Water we couldn’t drink from the tap — had to boil everything.

I was cold.
I was afraid.
And I swallowed it down so I wouldn’t seem ungrateful.

My body didn’t buy it.
I got sick anyway — the bubble guts, motion sickness, exhaustion.

If only I’d said it out loud:
“I’m cold.”
“I want a hot shower.”
“I’m scared of getting sick.”
“I’m afraid of being too much.”
“I want a warm place for us to gather and share.”
Maybe I would’ve been met there.
Maybe we would’ve laughed about it together.

But I didn’t.
So my body found its own way to speak.

When Spirit Speaks Through Others

Even then, Spirit was whispering through the people around me.
I remember Carlos sharing about his hike to Machu Picchu —
how he prayed for strength when his body grew tired,
and how he felt Pachamama herself lift him.

I wondered what that might’ve been like for me,
if I’d reached out to something greater instead of trying to hold it all alone.

Later, my sister Cory offered Kambo medicine to the group.
I’d sat with Kambo before — it’s always been hard for me.
This time was no different.
I was deep in my “fuck this” energy — tired, sick, resisting everything.
I held my pain close and played the victim.
My stubbornness — it’s a teacher I know well.
Gentleness wasn’t something I could find in myself yet.
But it was around me, waiting.

Held Anyway

We went to Ausangate — a request of mine since the beginning.
By then I was deep in it — bubble guts, motion sickness, body worn out —
but I went anyway.

Ausangate is one of the great apus of Peru —
the grandfather mountain, protector of the valley.
You can feel him before you see him.
Ancient. Still. Patient.

We rode horses up the rocky path to the glacier lakes.
A young Peruvian boy led my horse the whole way.
All I had to do was sit and trust.

When we reached the lakes, everything went quiet.
The water was pale turquoise and still,
the air thin and clean.
Even sick and shivering, I felt peace —
like the mountain was holding me steady.

I was being held —
by the land, by the people,
by something much larger than me.

What Peru Taught Me

Peru will always stay with me.
I’ll go back someday when the time is right.

That trip cracked me open.
It was the start of learning what embodiment really means —
how safety actually feels.

That same year, I began training in Zero Balancing.
And for the first time, my nervous system knew what it felt like to truly rest.

Peru showed me that lightness doesn’t come from leaving the body behind.
It comes from finally coming home to it.

Now, when I’m at the table with a client, I remember Peru.
I remember the mountain that asked me to trust,
the silence that held me when I couldn’t hold myself.
Every time I place my hands on someone, I listen for that same stillness —
the quiet presence beneath the stories, beneath the striving.
It’s the place where safety begins,
where the body finally knows it can rest,
and where spirit comes home to stay.