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And in that stillness, my body began to speak
again. Not in panic, not in pain, but with gentle
reminders of balance, breath, and being enough.
an Ayurvedic doctor. But it didn’t feel clinical. It felt
personal. Sacred, even. He read my pulse, looked into
my eyes, and somehow saw me- really saw me. I cried,
of course. How could he know so much from a touch?
He confirmed what I already knew: I was predominantly
Vata dosha (air and space). Creative, imaginative, always
spinning ideas...but also scattered, overstimulated, and
running on empty. He didn’t shame me for it. He simply
explained it. And then, gently, offered a way back.
What followed was two weeks of deep healing: twice-
a-day personalized treatments, sattvic meals, silence,
ritual, rest. No grand declarations. No reclusion to
a distant cave. Just a quiet beginning. A soft, steady
return to self.
The Unlearning: Letting the Body Speak
Ayurveda doesn’t chase symptoms. It listens. It
uncovers imbalance and reminds the body it already
knows how to heal, as long as we provide it the right
tools and align with its rhythm. So I began listening,
too. To aches, cravings, fatigue and emotions I had
long ignored.
My healing plan was as gentle as it was intentional.
The days were slow and deliberate: sunrise yoga,
nourishing meals specific for balancing my dosha, daily
abhyanga (warm oil massage), herbal teas and plenty
of space to simply be.
It wasn’t glamorous. In fact, it was often messy
and vulnerable. But as toxins- physical, emotional,
energetic- left my system, I began to feel lighter, more
spacious, more...me. My thoughts calmed. My breath
deepened. That constant buzzing in my body softened.
Food became medicine. Warm, spiced kitchari soothed
my gut and settled years of imbalance. Medicinal oils
massaged into my skin every day grounded me in a
way no app or supplement ever had. The simplicity of
it all was quite profound.
Even the resort itself was part of the healing. A modest
sanctuary designed not to impress, but to restore.
Earth tones and natural elements. Open-air walkways
lined with herbs. The soundtrack was birds singing
and beating of waves on the beach, not playlists. Every
detail, down to the outdoor yoga pavilion and the
timing of the meals, was intentional.
It was built for healing. And I was finally learning to
receive it.
The Stillness: Meeting Myself in the Silence
For someone used to noise, both internal and external,
the silence was at first jarring, then soothing. There was
little to no Wi-Fi. No notifications. No small talk. Just
the kind of quiet that unnerves you...until it doesn’t.
Until it becomes the comfort you forgot you needed.
And in that stillness, my body began to speak again.
Not in panic, not in pain, but with gentle reminders of
balance, breath, and being enough.
Each day began with ayurvedic yoga and pranayama,
breathwork that connected me to something beyond
thought. The air was filled with ocean breezes and
sweet incense. The distant chanting from a nearby
temple marked the start of a new day. It wasn’t
performance. It was presence. A dip into something
deeper.
That presence has stayed with me since. One afternoon,
after my abhyanga, I received Shirodhara, a therapy
where warm oil streams slowly across your forehead.
It’s said to activate deep states of rest. I wept again.
Not from sadness, but from the release of sadness.
Years of grief over a broken family, a failed marriage,
and forgotten dreams melted into something softer.
And that night, I slept. Not from exhaustion, but from