It's never too late to start....

A story about returning to the bones of who we are, and reclaiming lost parts of ourselves

Hello wild ones,

It has been a very long time since I have written to you all here - thank you for your patience. Even with my absence, I have still received subscribers and followers on this platform which is refreshing - no constant need to appease an algorithm in order to connect with more humans. Thanks for sticking around, and welcome to the new folks here.

It’s time to play a bit of catch up and update you on the past few months, so pour a cup of tea and get cozy, this one is long.

To be honest, I have struggled with consistency when it comes to writing over the last few years. Maybe it’s because I know the amount of time and effort I put into my posts and because it’s something I really value, I'd prefer to write pieces I am proud of rather than constantly outputting in the name of consistency - quality over quantity, right? But, on the other hand, I am also aware of perfectionism tendencies that sometimes cloud my thoughts and get in the way of me just ‘doing the thing.’ Either way, I am committing to writing to you all more regularly (at least 2 posts a month, hopefully more) because I have a lot to share when it comes to being human - mental health, relationships, trauma recovery, and creativity, to name a few.

Speaking of creativity, although I haven’t been formally writing to you all here, my life has been full of artistic expression. As some of you know, I am a dancer and perform in several shows throughout the year. In 2024, I performed in five shows and our final stadium performance had me dancing in 25 different routines (including 12 costume changes, some with only 27 seconds to make it happen). It was also the first show I had a lead role in which was exciting, and nerve racking. It was a rush, and something I am very proud of achieving, not to mention an absolute ball being up on stage having the best time.

Dance hasn’t always been a consistent practice in my life. I, like many kids I grew up with, had the privilege of exploring dance as a child - a little ballet, some jazz - but after a few years I moved onto other activities. I loved trying new things and exploring my body in different ways while learning other skills. Basketball, volleyball, baseball, soccer, theater, piano, skating - all avenues I dipped my toe in to see what it was like in the water. I vividly remember, at the tender age of just 7 years old, boldly running into our family kitchen and expressing to my parents that I wanted to play the piano. I still don’t know what inspired this in me, perhaps a deep knowing inside - kids are so effortlessly tapped into their intuition it seems. Luckily for me our neighbour up the road happened to be a piano teacher, and so every Saturday from then on out I walked up the street to Mrs. Webster’s house to learn piano. She said I was a natural, but to this day I cannot for the life of me read music - I play my ear and feel. But it’s been fifteen years since I have lived with a piano, so naturally it’s not something I continued, but have deeply missed for a long time.

A few months ago I turned 40! A big milestone birthday that crept up on me much faster than I realized. These milestone birthdays are always an interesting experience - the entire 39th year I was reminded by others that I am turning the big 4-0 and to be frank, it was a bit anxiety provoking in the lead up. There are so many narratives, particularly for women, about aging and transitioning into the forties and while I don’t subscribe to those narratives, they are still felt within the collective. Stay tuned for another post about this, later.

I had the most fabulous celebration, something I haven’t allowed myself to experience in previous birthdays, but last year I leaned into my values and desires and chose to celebrate with those near and dear to me. I had a Michael Jackson-themed dance celebration with my dance community, followed by a picnic and paint in the park down by the water with my closest friends. We even splashed out and had a professional cake made, something I have never done, and even though it read “Pisces Baby” instead of Scorpio, it was delicious. I was overwhelmed by all the love I received for my birthday and truly feel I healed parts of me I didn’t know needed tended to in such a way. And, to top it all off, my beautiful partner sent me on a scavenger hunt of gifts on our property with the final one waiting for me inside the house. I walked in and gasped seeing a stunning white piano in my living room next to our fireplace - something I have always dreamed of having. So now my fingers are happily playing the keys and little 7-year-old Laurita is jumping for joy. And, just the other day I received news that I will be doing a special performance coming up later this year - a dream come true.

Speaking of performances, I did something very scary mid-last year and performed my very first spoken word poetry piece at a local slam. I have been quietly writing poetry since I was a child, something I turned to for processing big feelings and to make sense of things, to tell stories my body held onto - a longtime muse. And while I shared little poems here and there over the years, I have never performed any using my own voice in live time. It was such an edge for me to do this, to put my voice behind the written word in a room full of strangers, yet it felt like I was returning to the bones of who I am. It was something I didn’t know I needed, something I didn’t know my body needed. I didn’t tell a single soul I was doing this, except my partner, whom I almost didn’t tell either but I knew he would have been sad to miss it and even though it was nerve racking, I wanted his support and presence in the room with me.

What an experience! It was a poem I had written while walking in the woods, a deeply personal one that holds a lot of meaning for me. For those that haven't been to a slam, you don’t know when you will be called up to perform as your name is chosen from a hat, and sure enough I was last up that evening so the anxiety was building for two hours before I got up there - thankfully I used some of my tried and true somatic practices to help down regulate before it was my turn. When my name was finally called, I walked up to the mic and paused. I closed my eyes and took a moment of silence while I took a few deep breaths before I began speaking. The room went quiet, and then I began.

As I recited my piece, I could feel something within me, I’m not quite sure what it was, but it felt ‘right’, as if I was meant to do this - as if I was reclaiming an ancient part of me that had been buried like a fossil. Have you ever felt that way about something?

When I finished, the audience clapped and I shyly made my way back to my partner - he was so proud of me. A few minutes later, they announced that I won second place. I was in shock.

I was not expecting this, but even more so, second place meant I had to perform another piece in the grand finals in December - so much for a one-and-done experience that I was hoping for. I was so deeply grateful for the support and opportunity to perform again, although I didn’t have a clue what to write about next.

That was in June, and for months I didn’t write and my mind was focused elsewhere, mostly on my next two upcoming dance performances that were consuming much of my time and energy. As December crept up on me, I realized the finals were quickly approaching and I still didn’t have anything written nor had I given any thought to a piece. I remember thinking at the time, perhaps I should pull out of the finals because I don’t like creating for the sake of a competition and nothing had landed for me - yet. But something in me whispered, “You need to do this.”

It was a week out before the finals and one verse popped into my mind, quite suddenly and unexpectedly - on par with how creativity usually flows for me. But I still wasn’t quite sure what the poem was about, I mean, there were several angles I could take from that one verse. So, I sat with it. I left it alone for a few days, and then again out of nowhere another verse came, and then another and another. It felt effortless. None of it was in any sensical order, it was a scattered pile of verses that I had just a couple of days to compile and morph together to make it cohesive. I knew this piece wasn’t just about me, it felt like a collective creative force filled with the voices of hundreds and thousands of women all moving through it, with me. I’ve never written a piece that felt like this. I still struggle to articulate the experience.

I had a couple of days to try and memorize it, while also knowing that nerves can very well play up on the night of which could impact my performance. I rehearsed as much as possible over the next couple of days and then had to decide what to wear. I chose a black sheer top with a long blood-red dress-turned skirt, red lipstick to match - it felt fitting.

The day came and my partner accompanied me to the venue, offering words of encouragement along our drive. It was a packed house and the poet lineup was strong. The most important thing to me was that my message was heard by those who needed it. Of course, winning feels good and something every poet was striving for that night, but I knew regardless of the outcome, expression was the priority.

I was second to perform, great to get it over and done with and enjoy the rest of the evening, however, not exactly ideal from a scoring perspective. For those who haven’t attended a poetry slam, the audience is to click their fingers instead of clapping if they resonate with the words being shared. While I spoke line by line, I could hear the room click louder and louder. It threw me off, to be acknowledged in that way, and I stumbled my words a bit, but eventually found a rhythm. I was relieved to be finished and rushed back to my partner in the audience to decompress. The scores were called out, not bad for a second-time performer.

The end of the night arrived and the winners were announced, not me this time. But, in my eyes, I achieved what I set out to do - to share an important message. I had women from every direction approach me, each with that certain look in their eyes - an unspoken sense of solidarity, of feeling seen - and they thanked me for my piece. Many were crying, and some hugging me for long periods of time. It was equally moving as it was awkward, I’d never been in that position before receiving such acknowledgment over my words that are often tucked away in my journal. I went home feeling satisfied that I got up there and shared from my heart, while at the same time helping other women feel deeply seen - we never really are alone, are we?

The following week I was offered to attend the Woodford Folk Festival to perform at the poetry slam. Woodford is one of the biggest annual music and cultural festivals in Australia with over 125,000 people in attendance each year. Thousands fly in from all over the country to experience a week of art and entertainment, and performers from all over the world make the trek to attend the event. Surprisingly, I had not yet been to the festival despite living just an hour away. So, this was my incentive - to finally attend the famous festival and perform in the poetry slam.

I was hesitant and waited until just the night before to say yes and throw my name in the hat to perform. I said yes, even though I was scared and uncertain. I said yes, because my heart said it for me, first.

I was in heat two, on Dec 30th, and the event started at 10:30 am, and again, I didn’t know when I would be called up to perform. Nick, the host, informed me that if I wasn’t there in time when my name was announced I unfortunately wouldn’t be able to perform. We pulled up to the Woodford gates and noticed the long line of cars ahead of us, and with only 15 minutes to spare, we were cutting it close. While we slowly made our way through the lineup, I was getting changed in the car - again, the black sheer top with the blood-red skirt and matching lipstick. My partner got our tickets and we hurried our way to the venue, the event was starting in just five minutes. He dropped me as close to the venue as he could and then I jumped out of the car and began running, both hands holding my skirt up, while he illegally parked somewhere - he didn’t want to miss a single moment. I was huffing and puffing by the time I arrived, rushed in, and grabbed the first seat I saw, and with only a moment to spare before my name was called - second to perform again, with just seconds to spare. This time it was a much bigger audience.

I walked on stage, nervous and out of breath, but glad I had a little run to burn off some of the energy. Sometimes being late helps, I guess. I closed my eyes and took a breath in front of the microphone to collect myself. This poem mattered to me, in more ways than one, and I needed to do it justice - for them. I spoke from the heart, and with a little bit of edge, because these words hold weight - more than we could ever hold. I saw some tears being shed, and eyes that held a story. It felt familiar.

I didn’t stumble this time. And I felt every word in my bones. I finished my piece and a woman ran up to me for a hug as soon as I took my seat. It was a long embrace as she whispered some words in my ear, solidarity on repeat. The judges announced their scores - 9.4, 9.5, 9.3. As the heat came to an end it was announced that I won myself a seat at the grand finals, something I wasn’t prepared for. For the rest of the day, men & women approached me thanking me for my poem - I felt socially awkward but very grateful for their beautiful words and acknowledgment. I can’t help but think of little 10-year-old me who would write poems in my bedroom and tuck them under my pillow for no one to see. And now I was standing in a room full of hundreds of strangers sharing my words that help them feel something - it was wild. And since I won a spot in the finals that was scheduled for January 1st, that meant I had to write an entirely new piece to perform, and I had 24 hours to do it.

I was still on such a high from attending Woodford and performing but had to get my creative juices flowing to somehow craft a new piece for the finals. Something felt unlocked for me after performing, like I had turned on an old rusty faucet that hadn’t felt water in years - words and verses were flowing through me and I was having difficulty keeping up with the pace of my thoughts. But each tidbit of a verse didn’t feel like the one I needed to focus on, so I bookmarked them to return to later. I was at home trying to write but felt cooped up and knew I needed to head to the beach for a walk, still not having anything written down. I don’t know about you, but I have learned over the years that my writing practice requires movement outdoors or a change of scenery to re-energize what wants to be written.

It only took five minutes walking at the ocean’s edge for the words to arrive. I pulled out my phone to voice record the verses as they kept rolling in like the waves to my left. I am forever fascinated by flow states. This poem felt just as important as the previous one, and I had no clue just the day prior that it was in me to write all along. Isn’t that usually the case? We never know what needs to land on the page until we give ourselves a minute to meet the page ourselves.

I had almost completed the piece by the time my beach walk came to an end, but I could feel the fire inside me burning with inspiration to keep going. When I am immersed in a piece of writing I find it hard to walk away from it, what about you? I’ve been learning a lot about my own creative process and what works for me, and what doesn’t. It’s a love affair - intense, hopeful, and passionate. But one thing that remains true from my premature days of scribbling lines in my journal as a kid, is the power of being honest - the power of reclaiming your voice, for you.

I arrived home and while cooking dinner with my partner, verses kept coming to me so I had to stop what I was doing to jot them down otherwise I’d miss the moment, and words. An hour later it was done, still requiring some edits here and there to keep it in the 2 - 2.5 minute time frame - you lose points every 30 seconds you go over in a slam. I spent the remainder of the night refining the piece and the following morning was my time to rehearse and practice.

I knew going into the finals that I was bringing my phone up on stage with me to recite from because 24 hours is not nearly enough time for me to memorize it completely with confidence. I’d rather bring my words up with me than freeze forgetting my next line and risk not delivering the message in the way it’s intended. Thankfully the finals were an evening event so I still had the daytime hours to practice, over and over. There’s something I love about working hard toward a performance - whether it's poetry slams, music events, or dance - I enjoy the hard work, commitment, passion, and grit that comes along with being a performer.

I chose a different outfit for the finals, even though it was tempting to flow around the festival in that vibrant red dress - I had one woman the day prior say it was the best outfit she had seen at the festival. We arrived with some time to spare this time around, thankfully. It was lightly raining and I walked around the grounds rehearsing in my head as guests arrived to take their seats in the venue. There’s something about nighttime performances that bring a new edge compared to daytime ones - more serious, more intimate. Seats were filling, and my nerves were growing. As I paced outside the venue rehearsing, a woman approached me asking to hold my hands, to which I agreed - it’s Woodford, after all. She looked me straight in the eyes and asked if I was performing that night, I nodded yes. She said, “Take a breath with me, you’re going to be amazing, you have powerful messages to share and you are meant to do this.” Then she walked away.

I waited until the last possible moment to take my seat at the front with my partner, it helps me to stay mobilized when I am experiencing anxiety. The room was absolutely packed. One by one each poet was called to the stage to perform, and I sat trying to focus but simultaneously waiting for my name to be called - the anticipation was intense. At one point, one of my dear friends in the audience texted me wondering if she had missed my performance because I hadn’t been on stage yet, to which I replied “I’ll likely be last” and sure enough, I was. He didn’t even need to call my name, I knew I was the last in the hat to be called.

As I walked up on that stage I could feel the warmth of the lights and couldn’t make out a single face in the crowd, which was probably a good thing. Again, I let out a sigh before I began - regulation first and foremost. As I recited my piece, the room was dead silent, so much so you could hear a pin drop. But I felt like I was alone in that moment, in a good way, just me and the mic. I read from my phone but delivered from my heart. The moment I finished the crowd started roaring and I swiftly left the mic and was immediately greeted with a hug from the host who gave me that look, the one that affirms you did a good job. As I walked off the stage the crowd was still clapping and cheering and the moment I was in view they stood up and gave me a standing ovation. I was overwhelmed with emotion, and so were some audience members. My eyes stayed locked on my partner while I ran into his arms, with the crowd still cheering. It was a moment I will never forget.

I sat down and took a breath while my partner held my hand. The judges announced their scores aloud - the first one yelled out “11/10” and I gasped, then 9.4, 9.2. Nick, the host, announces the winner - then me in second place.

I WON SECOND PLACE AT WOODFORD!

If you had told me just a few months beforehand that I would be performing spoken word poetry at the Woodford festival and winning second place, I would have probably rolled my eyes and laughed.

As the event was wrapping up, men and women approached me, some who also heard my other poem two days prior, and were grateful to have heard another one that night. I was so grateful for the opportunity to perform, and glad I trusted myself enough to say yes. Sometimes in life we need to say yes to the things that scare us, even the things we doubt, because feeling fear and uncertainty doesn’t mean you’re not supposed to do the thing, it just means it matters to you.

November and December were filled with performances - both dance and poetry - and helped remind me of how important creativity and expression really are to me and my mental health. The holidays are always a challenge for me each year as I miss my family dearly while living so far away, and this year in particular we were met with some difficult news that made Christmas that much harder for me and my heart. Living so far away never gets easier, only harder, but being in devotion to my creative muse helps anchor me back into myself, even amongst the tender bits. I am so glad I ended the year, and started the new year, on a creative foot - it’s been a whirlwind of creative expression and expansion, and walking these edges of uncertainty has oddly felt like home for me.

I’m a therapist by day, and a wildly imperfect human first, who writes stuff to feel things. Weaving words has always been my muse, an outlet to say what’s really on my mind regardless if it pokes some things inside because these storylines need somewhere else to reside - somewhere outside of me, please.

For years I held a strong attachment to my identity and role as a therapist, and still do at times, but the difference now is that I also allow other parts of me to be explored and nurtured. I spent so much of my adult life accumulating degrees and certificates and establishing myself as a qualified therapist, something I am (still) passionate about, but along the way, I drifted further and further away from my creative parts, as if they didn’t hold enough value to keep tending to - we’re taught to focus on where the success lies, where the money is, as if success only lives within the realm of financial accumulation. My life is rich with creativity and expression, and I intend to keep nurturing this path because a life without art is a life without aliveness - and I want to FEEL alive.

In 2022, after receiving a cancer diagnosis (malignant melanoma), I felt a strong pull back to ancient parts of me that had been left long ago to fossilize. A line in the sand moment, something many of us experience when navigating health challenges, grief, loss, or sudden change. Something about facing off with mortality quickly reminds us of what really matters - and for most, it isn’t money. From that day forward (after getting the news) I knew that my life needed to include more of what made me feel alive, because I was in fact alive, and I wanted to feel it in my bones. Just six weeks after my surgery, and only two weeks after being back on my feet walking, I was on stage dancing and performing in my first show here in Australia. Fast forward a couple of months and I was watching a local theatre show in awe, feeling called to explore my own theatre interests, knowing I was meant to be on stage too, in some way, somehow. It was only a month later that I found myself at my very first musical theatre audition singing a solo song in front of the other auditionees and landing a part in the show - an all-female cabaret. Since then, I have gone on to perform in several more shows and now more recently, becoming a spoken word poet.

It feels like a homecoming, as if my ancestors keep whispering, “Keep going, this is part of you.” When I look back and reflect on my life, I can see the passion and fire I had to write, sing, dance, and perform from such a young age, but along the way I became fragmented and lost touch with these sacred parts of me, of my lineage. And now, at 40 years old, it feels like I am only just beginning to tap into my performer parts and all that lies there - it’s exciting, and liberating, and it’s never too late to explore new parts of you, because you never know what’s waiting for you on the other side of saying yes to something you can’t predict the outcome of.

The essence of my work as a therapist is helping women reclaim their voice, power, and body and it’s been birthed from years of traversing this terrain after losing myself from trauma and stress that had me questioning and abandoning myself, and living in a survival suit riddled with patterns of protection to keep me “safe.” As I’m supporting women every day to step fully into themselves - their heart, their desires, their fire, their truth - I’m still doing the same for me too. Because reclamation is an ongoing devotion to self. And I’m here for it all.

I don’t know where this path may take me, all I know is that I need to walk it. To journey with my creative parts and give them a seat at my table, front row this time. Because I need to not merely exist but to feel alive, and creativity helps me feel that in every way. And how beautiful it is to be in expression of what matters most, in this one wild and precious life.

Thanks for being here, with me….

Laurita

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Ps. I have an exciting filming event coming up in which two of my spoken word poems will be captured, plus a very special performance later in the year.

Pps. I am hosting a workshop this week called Somatic Dreamcraft - a two-hour workshop to support and guide you through the tools, practices, processes, and teachings to help get your nervous system on board for what you desire. We've been taught to write our lists, think about our desires, throw some affirmations in the mix, and just take steps to make it happen.

But what if you've done that and it still didn't "work"? You might feel like you've failed, or judge yourself for not being where you thought you should be or have that thing you desire by now.

But the truth is, if your nervous system isn't regulated and you're living in survival mode, it will never be safe to have all that you want - regardless of how much you want it.

And that makes sense. You're not broken.

So, we must meet the body first before we can create the life we want and call in what we desire.

Let's make 2025 more grounded, embodied, and sustainable and craft our dreams from that place.

Workshop Details:

Thursday January 23 @ 6:30-8:30pm (Canada EST)

Friday January 24 @ 9:30-11:30am (Australia AEST)

The replay is available if you can't make it live, but you must register first.

Click here to register!