I Belong Here

A female surfer friend recently sent me a PDF about overcoming limiting beliefs as a female surfer.

Most of it was pretty generic self-help stuff.

But one line stuck with me:

I belong here.

It was meant to be repeated in the water.

When the lineup is crowded.

When you're surrounded by surfers who are better than you.

When you start questioning whether you have as much of a right to be sitting at that peak as everyone else.

Obviously, there are some waves where I don't belong yet. Part of surfing in Popoyo—or anywhere—is understanding your ability and respecting the ocean.

But the water itself?

The water is for everyone.

So lately, when I feel myself getting annoyed by a crowded lineup, a tourist sitting in the wrong place, a longboarder snaking me or a surf instructor pushing a student into my wave, I try to remember:

I belong here.

And if I belong here, everyone else does too.

Annoying how that works.

What Does Grounding Actually Feel Like?

I've also been thinking about this phrase during my yoga practice.

In yoga, we talk a lot about grounding.

We press our toes into the mat and imagine that roots are growing out of our feet.

We slow our breath.

We bring our awareness out of our heads and back into our bodies.

In Kundalini yoga, we might practice kriyas associated with the root chakra, traditionally connected with safety, stability and belonging.

But lately I've started wondering if grounding is less about something we do and more about something we eventually learn to feel.

I'm here. I'm safe. I have a place here.

When I first arrived in Popoyo, Nicaragua, I knew almost immediately that I loved it.

But loving somewhere and feeling like you belong there are two different things.

I didn't know many people. I didn't really understand how everything worked. It seemed like everyone already knew everyone else.

There was this subtle feeling that I was standing on the outside of something.

Over a year later, that feeling has changed.

Not because of one big moment.

Because of hundreds of little ones.

Finding Community in Popoyo

Recently, a friend and I managed to have a normally crowded surf peak entirely to ourselves for an hour.

We caught wave after wave, grinning ear to ear.

I went to an ecstatic dance event with friends and afterward sat down to a big family-style dinner with people from the dance.

While teaching yoga on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I heard myself say:

“How lucky are we to be here right now?”

Such a cliche yogi thing to say.

But I really felt it!!

I hiked through the jungle and spotted an ocelot slinking away.

Then took an improv dance class and crawled around on the floor probably trying to channel my inner ocelot.

Soon I’ll be helping to plan a bracelet-making workshop with a group of local indigenous women for a fancy hostel .

Yoga. Surfing. Dancing. Creating. Eating together.

Community building.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I realized something:

My body has finally landed.

Safely and soundly.

Yoga, Grounding and Belonging

Maybe that's what I'm starting to understand about belonging.

We tend to think belonging comes from the outside.

Someone invites us in. We make friends. We get good enough at something. We become a regular. Someone validates that yes, we have earned our place here.

But I think real belonging starts from within.

I belong here.

Not because I'm the best surfer in the lineup (I’m not).

Not because I'm the most experienced yoga teacher in Popoyo (I’m not.)

Not because I’m the most charismatic in the room (I’m not.)

I belong because I'm willing to show up as myself and take up the space that's mine.

Yoga has helped me practice that.

Of course, yoga can help us feel physically grounded. We feel our feet against the mat. We deepen our breath. We bring our awareness out of our heads and back into our bodies.

But I think there's another kind of grounding that happens too.

The more comfortable you become inhabiting your own body, the less you need the outside world to reassure you that you're allowed to be somewhere.

You can walk into a room where you don't know anyone.

Teach the class even when imposter syndrome tells you everyone else knows more than you.

Paddle out when the lineup is intimidating.

Dance when you feel completely ridiculous.

And the more grounded you become in yourself, the easier it becomes to show up in the world as your full self—not shrinking, performing or waiting for permission.

Maybe that's one of the greatest things yoga can teach us.

To feel at home in our own bodies first.

To breathe through the discomfort of being seen.

To take up space without needing to prove we deserve it.

And to carry that sense of belonging with us when we step off the mat and into the rest of our lives.

Maybe it's all the root chakra kriyas I've been doing.

Maybe it's that damn PDF.

Whatever it is...

I belong here.

And so do you.