Landed in Costa Rica today. I sat in a window seat on the flight in. Just minutes before landing, a rainbow formed in the sky as I was recording a video out the window. It felt like a magical welcome—a promise of good things to come... like Costa Rica itself is embracing me with open arms.

"This rainbow just amplifies the feeling that this trip is going to be something truly special."

Somewhere between the clouds and the coastline, I just knew—I was right where I needed to be.

That night, I sat down with my journal and wrote this affirmation to ground myself in the moment and open my heart to what was coming:

"Today I embrace the adventure of exploring a new country with an open heart & mind.
I am excited to experience the unique culture, meet fascinating people, and create unforgettable memories.
I am grateful for this opportunity to step outside my comfort zone.
I am safe, confident & ready to embrace all the wonders that await me."

*Just before landing in Costa Rica, this rainbow appeared outside my window. A magical welcome. A promise of something special.*

Before the Retreat: A Little Adventure, a Little Self-Care

I arrived in Costa Rica two days before the retreat began and allowed myself to ease in slowly—with a little pampering and a little adventure.

I booked a pedicure and facial, spent time by the hotel pool, and indulged in some incredible meals that made me forget I was anywhere near an airport. It felt indulgent in the best way—a moment of calm before whatever was coming next.

A bowl of calm, color, and unexpected joy.

And then I decided to try to hike to La Leona Waterfall.
Keyword: try.

The water was too high to actually see the fall, but I gave it my best shot. I scrambled through the canyon, laughed through the slippery parts, and nearly got swept away at least once. I even jumped off a cliff into the turquoise water—equal parts thrill and surrender.

Seconds before realizing I might be in over my head—literally. Took one look at the current and thought, ‘Yeah, I got this.’ I did not have this.

Note to self: if the guide says the water's high, maybe listen the first time.

Along the way, we came across a patch of rich terracotta-colored clay. Our guide explained that this type of clay has traditionally been used by locals to paint homes, and is still part of the natural materials used in pottery and building techniques throughout Costa Rica. We dipped our fingers into it and painted our faces—part ritual, part jungle warpaint, part spontaneous joy.

I didn’t reach the fall. But I walked through turquoise water, painted my face with clay, and laughed harder than I had in weeks. That was enough. My guard was dropping. My nervous system was finally exhaling.

The Gathering

On December 11th, I arrived at New Life Rising, an ayahuasca retreat set within Costa Rica’s tropical dry forest. Created and lovingly held by Matt and Jeanae, it already felt like sacred ground the moment I stepped onto it.

I checked in, met the facilitators, and settled into my own cabin—simple, quiet, and tucked just enough into the trees. It had two beds, but the space was mine alone, which felt like a gift. A place to return to. A place to release.

My little sanctuary in the trees. A space to breathe, to reflect, to come home to myself. Simple, sacred, and mine alone.

I walked into my room at exactly 3:33 PM. I remember that moment clearly—it felt like a sign.

That evening, we gathered in a circle for the welcome ceremony. Twelve of us—strangers on paper, but already connected by something invisible. We went around and shared why we came.

"A lot of heartbreak, addiction, grief, and rebirth stories… I could feel the pain in the room, and I could also feel the hope."

I listened closely. Each story was layered with vulnerability and strength. Some of the people I’d soon grow deeply connected to, I was just beginning to observe:

“Med school friends reunited after eight years apart. A driven couple from New York. A new couple who came from North Carolina. A small, spunky lady from Jersey. A young, ambitious girl who's been living in Saudi Arabia, but originally from the States. A guy my age who owns a men’s sober living and was venturing outside the U.S. for the first time. A city boy from the Bay Area, visiting Matt and Jeanae for the second time. And my crazy, cat-loving cabin neighbor—a workaholic perfectionist, like me.”

We were all coming from such different places, but the honesty in the room made it clear: we were here for something real.

"I feel grounded. And safe. I'm ready."

The ceremony space at New Life Rising—lit with intention, held with love.

Setting the Intention

That night, I opened my journal and wrote out my intention for the ceremonies ahead. I didn’t overthink it. I just let the words come. What poured out of me became something I would return to again and again throughout the week:

"My intention for this ayahuasca retreat is to surrender.
Surrender to the wisdom of the medicine, allowing it to illuminate the path of my highest good.
I seek clarity & direction in my life.
I release any limiting beliefs or stagnant energy that may be obscuring my true purpose.
I open myself to receive profound insights, healing, a renewed sense of connection to myself & to the universe & all living things.
I intend to emerge from this experience with great vision for my future, empowered to manifest my dreams & live a life filled with authenticity, joy, & purpose."

Ceremony One – December 12

The night of the first ceremony, I was calm. Not anxious, not overly excited—just present.

“Wow. It seemed to take forever for the effects to begin…”

I started with a half cup of ayahuasca(and later a full cup)—I waited. I sat in the dark, breathing, noticing. The medicine didn’t hit all at once—it arrived slowly, gently.

The first thing I felt was a sudden warmth on my right cheek. Like a small fire had been lit there, just warming that one side of my face. It wasn’t imagined. It was real. Familiar.

Lucas.

He was the father of my oldest daughter, Dahlia. He passed away in December 2023. In 2024, I spoke with a medium who said Lucas had come through—apologetic and emotional. She told me he just wanted to hold me close to his chest. In that moment, with the warmth resting on my face, I knew what was happening. He was holding me. Just like he had wanted to. And I let him.

“I embraced it for as long as I could.”

Then, the colors began to appear.

“A beautiful dance of rainbow shapes and patterns illuminated behind my eyelids, creating a story made of light and color.”

Then came Amanda—my cousin, who was like a sister to me. I began replaying the memories of her dying slowly in front of me.

“Tears were falling down my face. They made me realize I needed to cry & release this.”
“I cried an overwhelming cry. Then Jeanae came to me, asked me to sit up & she blew smoke on my head, then down the back of my shirt & rubbed the smoke into my back. Then she asked me to put my hands in prayer position & blew the smoke between them. I felt okay again.”

I purged a third time.

“It felt like I let go of so much with that purge.”

I couldn’t fully relax after that—the effects were wearing off, and I couldn’t quite settle. But something inside me was changed.

After the ceremony, I sat by the fire with some of the group before returning to my cabin to journal. I was still thinking about that warmth on my cheek. And then, right as I finished journaling about it, The Gospel According to Luke started playing on Spotify.

“The signs are everywhere.”
“I feel wide awake mentally, but my body says otherwise. Time to rest.”

Between Ceremonies – December 13

Each day after a ceremony was a rest day—a time to integrate, reflect, and reconnect. We spent the next afternoon at the beach, playing in the ocean, laughing, and letting the saltwater carry away any lingering heaviness. The sun was warm, the waves were gentle, and the energy felt light.

Immersing in nature after an ayahuasca ceremony can be profoundly grounding. Studies have shown that spending time in natural environments helps reduce stress, enhance mood, and foster a deeper sense of connection to the world around us. This connection to nature is not just soothing; it can be a vital part of the healing process, helping to integrate the insights gained during the ceremony.

As I stood in the ocean, feeling the waves lap against my skin, I sensed a cleansing—not just of my body, but of my spirit.

Later that day, while resting alone in my cabin, I had an experience I wasn’t expecting. I wasn’t on the medicine. I was simply lying there in stillness, letting my body rest—and that’s when I saw it.

“It was a small orb that hovered above the empty 2nd bed in my cabin. It was translucent but illuminated with a white aura around it with red squiggly lines in the center.”

I watched it as it floated and moved.

“It hovered slowly to the right, left, up and down. It almost seemed to be doing so to see if my eyes were following it… and they were.”
“I closed my eyes and opened them again. It was still there. I watched it only briefly before closing my eyes and going to sleep.”

It didn’t speak. It didn’t move. It just hovered—peaceful, centered, present.

No fear. No intensity. Just a quiet, strange beauty—and a feeling I was not alone.

Later, I came across illustrations of biblically accurate angels—specifically a type known as Thrones. They’re often depicted as radiant, wheel-like beings made of layered rings, eyes, and glowing patterns. When I saw one of those illustrations, it stopped me in my tracks. It looked just like the orb I saw in my cabin.

It made me wonder if that moment wasn’t just visual—it was sacred. A glimpse of something divine, perhaps. Something ancient and beyond words.

An artistic interpretation of a Throne—one of the biblically described “wheels within wheels” angels. Often associated with divine justice, cosmic balance, and the mysteries of higher realms.

Ceremony Two – December 14

The second ceremony came after a day of softness—sun, salt water, and stillness. I felt lighter going in. Less fear. Less weight. Just an openness to see what the medicine had in store for me next.

“In tonight’s ceremony, the ayahuasca was mixed with chacruna. Another plant that contains DMT.”

It was a different brew than the first. The first ceremony used a brew mixed with chaliponga, while this one was brewed with chacruna. Same vine, different leaf—and that subtle shift in plant spirit brought a very different experience.

“The second ceremony, I did a full cup, but did not get up for more. The experiences were very different. The second ceremony was more calm, but it kicked quicker. Similar visuals.”

There was no overwhelming wave of grief. No intense purge. The energy was subtle and steady—like the medicine was working in the background, moving through me in quieter ways.

“The plant spirit was traveling through, my body working to heal me.”

I laid down and rested in that softened ceremony space for hours. I didn’t cry. I didn’t purge. But something was happening underneath it all.

“After the peak, I felt euphoric until I finally began getting sleepy.”

Not every ceremony cracks you wide open. Some just hold you gently while the deeper work begins to settle.

Ceremony Three – December 16

By the third and final ceremony, I knew what surrender felt like. I’d stopped trying to predict what would happen. I just showed up—open, steady, ready.

This time, I drank two full cups. The first was a blend of both previous brews—chaliponga and chacruna—and the second cup was pure chacruna. I didn’t journal about this ceremony at the time. It was too much. Too layered. Too fast. Too everything.

It took months to even begin unpacking what happened that night.

I remember the visuals most. Towering pillars rose around me, each covered in tiny, constantly shifting windows. Inside the windows were scenes—flashes of memories, fears, archetypes, even absurdities. Some were beautiful. Some were terrifying. Some were just... weird.

And yet, I wasn’t afraid. A presence was with me—familiar, calm. It guided me through each window like I was being walked through my own internal museum.

At one point, a Scooby-Doo head popped out of one of the windows and made a silly face. I laughed out loud. The medicine knew I needed that—needed to be reminded not to take it all so seriously.

I didn’t write any of it down. But I’ve carried it with me ever since. This ceremony didn’t offer a tidy conclusion. It cracked something open. And in the time since, I’ve been learning how to hold what came out.

Closing Thoughts & Deep Thanks

Each ceremony brought something different—grief, peace, vision, surrender. But the real medicine has been in the days, weeks, and months that followed. The way it all continues to ripple. The way I continue to unfold.

I didn’t leave Costa Rica with all the answers. I left with something better—a deeper trust in myself and a connection to something far greater.

And I didn’t do it alone.

The other guests at New Life Rising left just as deep a mark on me as the medicine did. So many of them were successful, driven women—grounded in their truth, aligned with their path. Watching them own their stories and move with such clarity helped me realize something: I could do that too. Their presence was the push I didn’t know I needed toward entrepreneurship and building a life of my own design.

And then there was the music—the Icarus.

During ceremony, Matt and Jeanae played a collection of Icarus—ancestral healing songs passed down through the plant spirits themselves. They sang with such grace and strength, weaving in a variety of instruments: flutes, drums, chimes, guitar, and more. The music wasn’t just background—it was the ceremony. It carried us, opened us, and held us when words couldn’t. Their voices still echo in my heart when I think of those nights.

The facilitators at the retreat were just as impactful. Each one brought something unique to the space—guidance, gentleness, laughter, protection. Whether they were checking in during ceremony, offering a grounding presence, or helping process emotions afterward, they made us feel safe, seen, and supported every step of the way. I’ll never forget their presence and the way they held space so beautifully.

And the food—oh, the food. Every meal was nourishing, intentional, and full of life. Made from scratch, made with love. Since returning home, I’ve been thrilled to see that Jeanae has started sharing some of her recipes—here’s where you can find them if you’re curious.

To Matt and Jeanae—thank you. For creating a space like New Life Rising, where healing can happen in such real, raw, beautiful ways. For holding us with such strength and softness. For walking the path right alongside us.

To the facilitators—for being the calm in the storm and the steady hands in sacred work. Your impact was felt more than you know.

To the forest.
To the fire.
To the medicine.
And to everyone who sat in that circle with me—thank you. I carry you with me.

To the ones who witnessed, wept, laughed, and sat beside me—I’ll never forget you.

A Grounded Offering: Ocean-Like Stillness

This simple nature-based practice can help ground the body and invite quiet restoration.

When you're ready:

Step outside or sit by a window—somewhere you can feel a breeze, sunlight, or even the stillness of early morning.
Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. Imagine the waves from the ocean washing over you, just like they did on my rest day in Costa Rica.
Let your body soften like sand. Let your breath move like tide.
Stay here for a few moments. No need to do—just be.
When you're ready, whisper to yourself:
“I trust the unfolding.”