The Moment I Remembered My Bubble

Where I Am Now

I’m learning how to integrate.

Not in a quiet retreat. Not on a mountaintop. Not after everything is fixed.

I’m learning how to assimilate while doing life. While parenting, while working, while healing, and while standing in a Barre3 class, trying not to wobble physically or emotionally.

That’s where this story begins.

The Moment My Balance Shifted

I’m mid-class. Focused. Centered. Breathing. Balanced.

And then I see someone I know. Just a glance. Simple.

And there goes my balance. I wobble, and the old story steps forward — my body reacting before my mind starts telling its story.

She’s more centered. More balanced. More confident. 

She moves with ease. She looks and feels like she belongs inside herself. 

I feel unfinished — like a children’s drawing, all outside the lines.

And there’s that voice

That voice.

The one I pretend doesn’t exist. The one I rarely hear but feel immediately. I buried that voice in the very back of my childhood bedroom closet and locked the door decades ago. She has never seen daylight. She knows only shame and comparison.

I don’t like her.
I decided she was not mine.
I barely admit I know her.

But she’s still there.

Old language. Automatic. Familiar.  I still hear it. It travels with me- but it stays outside the bubble.

And energetic boundaries while holding a plank, while breathing, while not falling over, while my nervous system ignites.

Right then. In that exact moment.

What Was Actually Happening

One of my teachers — Puma, a shaman I worked with in Peru — taught me about hucha (sounds like hoocha).

He described it as the heavy, low-frequency energy that slips in when we lose connection to ourselves — when fear rises, when panic flickers, when we feel “out of sorts,” scattered, or off center. 

I’ve come to recognize that when I begin questioning myself, I drift away from my own center, just a little.

And that’s when hoocha can enter.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Quietly.

Almost as if my soul steps back for a moment — and that small opening is enough for something heavier to take its place.

And because I’m so busy trying to make sense of what’s happening — so many feelings, so many thoughts arriving all at once — I don’t notice the exchange as it happens.

Energetic Boundaries

Learning energetic boundaries has not been seamless.  

For a long time, it felt like one or the other.

Either I was deep in energetic work — tending to my boundaries like it was a full-time job, slowing down, stopping everything to return to myself…

or I was moving fast, working, producing, getting things done — and forgetting to do it at all.

There have been hours, days, weeks where something shifts inside me and I have to stop.

I pause. I say the words that bring me back to the bubble. I call on my guides. I ask for help clearing what isn’t mine.

But this moment feels different.

I am learning how to do both at the same time.

Remembering My Boundary

So I stop. I remember.

Nothing, not one thing and no one, that is not equal to or greater than my divine self gets to come within six feet of me in any direction.

I call in my higher self. My guides. My allies. I’m still learning how to listen.

Sometimes I want dramatic confirmation — a voice, a vision, something undeniable. But vision and hearing are not my sensory gifts.

I feel.

And I do not always know what I feel.

Because to know what I feel, I have to slow down.

I have to be silent.

And my human self is rarely slow or silent.

She is working on ten projects at once. Exercising while mentally checking off her to-do list. Moving fast even while trying to heal.

Learning energetic boundaries hasn’t been seamless.

There have been hours, days, weeks where something shifts inside me and I have to stop.

I pause. I say the words that bring me back to the bubble. I ask for help clearing what isn’t mine. “Nothing — not one thing and no one — that is not equal to or greater than my divine self is allowed within six feet of me.”

But in the past, it has felt like one or the other.

Either I’m deep in spiritual and energetic work, tending to my boundaries like it’s a full-time job…or I’m moving fast — productive, efficient, getting everything done.

I haven’t yet figured out how to do both at the same time.

And time already feels so scarce.

But the bubble is teaching me something different.

The bubble isn’t avoidance. It’s responsive containment. It doesn’t make me disappear. It allows me to stay inside myself.

In Wicked, Galinda’s bubble isn’t decoration. It’s her primary mode of transportation. She moves through the world inside it.

When someone gets angry with me, the bubble rises around me. Their words hit it. It indents. And then it returns to shape.

I feel the impact.

I don’t absorb the charge.

I don’t collapse or harden.

I return to my own shape.

That isn’t spiritual bypassing. That’s somatic intelligence.

I’m not stepping out of life to protect myself.

I’m learning to move through life protected.

That’s integration. Not isolation.

And here is the wild part — I have to do all of that in the same breath of time that I’m still doing the class.

This isn’t a rehearsal. This isn’t practice. This is living.