I used to feel inadequate. Not at all the herbalist I wanted to be.

My days were filled with commutes to and from clients at their homes and the studio (for yoga, not herbs); medicine-making was itchy and took up space and time I didn't feel I had; and when I did get to work with earth medicine, I was spending a lot of time educating my clients on what herbalism was rather than what I thought my practice should be.

These excuses cycled through my mind — reasons I wasn't enough, wasn't doing it right, wasn't a real herbalist. I didn't realize this was it. I was doing the work.

It took me years to realize each of those opportunities was another window to my medicine. Teaching yoga for me was actually about creating healing space and supporting embodied experiencing. Medicine-making at the edges meant that I could only make the medicine I was really inspired about, that I knew was really important. And education is not only my passion but also often one of the most powerful supports we can share when it comes to holistic health and well being.

I wasn't inadequate. I was growing my practice.  Not my work "practice."  My living practice.  I still don't live in the picturesque valley forest I dreamt of.  Nor do I see clients back-to-back five days a week.  So much has changed since I dipped my toes into this herby work.  In other ways, not much has changed at all.

I’m an herbalist, but my work has widened to incorporate plants, stones, and embodiment at every layer. I’m a teacher, cultivating containers for learning and facilitating safer spaces for integration. I’m a writer, a love that’s grown up alongside green beings and mysticism in my life since I was a kid. I’m in community, growing connection and relationship in facets that grow me. I celebrate earth medicine that rises up between city sidewalks and grows along cracks in brick walls. I’m at home.

It dawned on me again just the other day.  I’m doing what I love. I’m grateful to be in this work and conscious of the responsibility that comes with this passion and possibility.

It’s a living, breathing, vital practice.  It’s my medicine.