In 2013 I was in the Sacred Valley of Peru. Even though I was surrounded by a group of women who were on this sacred journey with me, I felt like I was falling apart at the seams, especially when I participated in a soul retrieval with a local healer. For a multitude of reasons, I was having a hell of a time in Peru, and honestly, I was just trying to survive this day of healing that everyone seemed to be enjoying so much. It was probably written all over my face that I was struggling, so naturally, the healer picked me as the first participant for the soul retrieval.
She placed me in the center of the group and the women circled around me, laying their hands on my back and shoulders. In unison, they chanted my name in long bursts that went on for what seemed like eternity. Over and over they called out, “Julieeeeeeeeeee.” At first, the ex-catholic in me was concerned that I had stumbled into some sort of cult ritual. This intrusive thought mercifully passed. Then, behind it, came the shattering of all my defenses.
Soul retrieval ceremonies are meant to call back the parts of your soul that you have lost along the way. Whether it is the parts that you sacrificed yourself or the parts you lost when others harmed you. In essence, it is trauma that has caused your soul to fragment over time. In the ceremony, the group encircles you and calls your name in a methodical chant, summoning you home. It is a gathering of all that has been lost and longs to be found.
With my defenses adrift, I remember sobbing as the haunting echoes of my own name rained on me from all angles. In that otherworldly state, I saw abstract images of many versions of myself coming back towards me. I assure you, I was 100% sober in this moment (I know you were wondering). The skeptic in me wanted to believe this was voodoo magic, but the adoptee in me knew it was not.
As an adoptee, I have always imagined that there are one million parts of myself that have been sacrificed and lost over the years. The infant me who was removed from her mother and then spent three weeks in foster care—how could she not have lost herself in those days of confusion and chaos? The adolescent me who was riddled with anxiety—how could she hold on to herself with thoughts of suicide chasing her? These adoptee parts of my soul are not the only parts that were lost, but those that I remember coming back towards me that day.
Like many threads, they seemed to be weaving me back together in the Sacred Valley of Peru (arguably one of the most powerful places I have ever visited), despite the fact that I was very much falling apart. The little girl who so longed to be found by someone was beginning to realize that, “someone” was going to have to be me. There was no one coming to sail me to safety. There was no one coming to mother me the way my birthmother would have. These are facts that I have now made peace with, but at the time, I was terrified by them.
Over the years, I have marveled at how similar soul retrieval is to therapy. Therapists, in essence, help our clients go back in time and collect the parts of themselves that they have left behind, in order to live into the future.
When I work with stories of traumatic births where, mercifully, everyone survives, I hear how these people are usually met with statements like, “What matters is that you and your baby are healthy!” Of course, that is ultimately what matters, but these statements are missing the lived experiences in both the birthing person and baby. The lived experience is subverted when the only response is how lucky they are. What of the trauma they have endured? Where does that story go?
What is sacrificed often comes to haunt us in the form of anxiety, depression, and feeling as if something ineffable is missing. What if that “something” is you? The parts of you that are bruised by life and lost along the way?
These are the moments of soul splitting and loss. We often forget the power of looking back to gather up the parts of ourselves that have survived and struggle to continue to exist. I imagine this is because it can feel daunting to encircle ourselves and call back to the lost pieces of our soul. That work takes a willingness to let our defenses shatter. At times, it means letting rivers of mourning pour from our eyes. It is easier to forge ahead and remind ourselves how lucky we are to be alive. In the end, the walls we build around our suffering only keep us from ourselves.
As my soul retrieval in Peru ended, I knew not everything was healed. I will say this again for the doubters in the back row: there is no one-stop-shop, 5 easy tricks, or one day/weekend class that is going to heal a lifetime of aches and losses. Do not give anyone who claims that they can any of your hard-earned money.
I will live with the little orphan girl within me until I die. There will be times when she will burn with sadness and anger, and I will have to tend to her. Nothing will strike her from the docket and make her obsolete, nor would I ever want her to be obsolete. What was once endured becomes a panel in the tapestry of our lives—right next to the times we are thriving and living. The same threads run throughout it all. The times of enduring and the times of thriving (and what’s in between the end-riving). We cannot cut out the threads of our life without a cost. Nor can we live fully without the parts of ourselves that have been left behind.
While a circle of women, a healer, and a Peruvian landscape were the backdrop for my summoning of Self, I know it is not required for the recipe. We have everything we need to look back at the landscape of our lives and bring forth the parts that are waiting for us to take their hand. Those parts are worth calling home. Let your defenses disintegrate—call yourself home.
Per aspera, ad astra
Julie
