Having an identity-shattering experience can leave you feeling, for a minute*, like you’re carefully picking your way through a dense fog.

*A minute can equal any length of time. In fact, time tends to do funny things in these liminal spaces.

Notes you used to sway to now feel discordant.

Velvet moments feel like sandpaper on sunburned skin.

A ripe, crisp apple tastes like last week’s garbage.

So you tread carefully, unsure whether you’re moving forward or in circles.

Knowing only that you must keep moving to keep breathing.

What if, instead, it's the ideal excavation weather?

But what if this fog isn't something to push through?

When life strips away everything you thought you knew about yourself, it leaves behind something far more valuable than comfort:

access to your depths.

This is where Inner

Archeology begins.

The artifacts of who you really are have been buried there in your depths all along, waiting for exactly this kind of disruption to bring them to light.

Not with building something new on shaky ground, but with carefully excavating what's always been true about you beneath the rubble of who you thought you were supposed to be.

I know this terrain.

Suffice it to say, I’ve spent a LOT of time here.