The Shanty, The Waterfall and The Wake-Up Call

If someone had told me I’d be sobbing under a waterfall in Bali, witnessing a version of myself ascending through a beam of light, let’s be real… I probably wouldn’t have been surprised—but still curious to see how it would all unfold.

And yet, that’s exactly what happened.

I assume you might be a little lost so let me take you back a bit.

I was already heading to Bali for my nephew’s wedding in May when a retreat caught my eye. You know the kind you scroll past it thinking, “Three weeks in Bali? I don’t have time for that…”, but something in me wouldn’t let it go. I felt deeply pulled, and before I could ‘logic’ myself out of it, I booked it for myself and Echoe. I trusted (nervously) that everything would work out beautifully.

Cue what I thought a Bali retreat would be: lush infinity pools, flower-adorned smoothie bowls, the scent of lemongrass oil drifting through a luxury villa. Bliss, right?

Not quite what eventuated.

Instead, we arrived at what I lovingly (and only slightly bitterly) dubbed The Shanty. Dozens of steep, dark stairs led us down into what felt more like a shack than a sanctuary. Crossing a narrow bridge into the jungle, I could feel my fears rising—but something in me whispered to stay. There was something here I needed.

Now, a little about me: I’m not exactly thrilled by creatures that scurry, slither, swoop, or have more than two legs. So when the geckos, bees and monkeys on the verandah arrived, I was less than jumping for joy! Someone else had to clear the way before I could even leave my room! But discomfort, I’ve learned, is a powerful teacher. It unearths what comfort tends to bury.

One day on our trip, we visited a waterfall—a powerful one. You felt it in your bones before you even saw it. Walking through towering cliffs, climbing slick rocks, I suddenly began to cry. No, sob. A wave of grief poured out of me, grief I didn’t even know I’d been carrying. It was raw, overwhelming, and strangely cleansing.

In a cave carved into the rock, a shaft of sunlight streamed in, casting everything in a golden hue. I looked up and saw a version of myself rising in the light. Not a vision, not a dream—just a moment of deep, sacred knowing.

Water holds deep meaning in Balinese culture. It cleanses, renews, connects—and in that moment, I was all three.

From there, we moved—both physically and energetically—to a new space. From shanty to sanctuary. But without the stillness and discomfort of that messy middle, I don’t think I would have received the richness of the rest. The contrast was essential. The awakening was real.

Spending 12 days with Echoe was one of the greatest gifts. We deepened our connection as mother and daughter, woman to woman, healer to healer. We had conversations we didn’t know we needed to have, and healing that happened quietly between the moments. There was so much light in her, and watching her transformation was a healing in itself.

Also, for the record: we discovered a new passion—Aqua Aerobics, Bali Style. Life-changing. (Mention it to me in the salon and I might even give you a performance of my retained choreography from our “Gangnam Style” routine 😉)

Bali gifted me the warmth of its people, the wisdom of its rituals, and the reminder that everything—even the inconvenient—has purpose. In the quiet, ceremony-filled mornings, I found a sense of home again. Not tied to a place, but to presence.

Coming back, the noise feels louder. Faster. Like I’m already chasing something I don’t need. But I’m holding tight to what Bali reminded me of:

You don’t have to escape to find yourself.
But sometimes, you do have to sit in the unfamiliar long enough to remember who you really are.

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