Yesterday, I attended a Balinese purification and blessing ceremony with Tri Desna in Ubud. While the full impact of letting go may take days, even weeks, today, I feel lighter. Rested. Unburdened. Even in the midst of a gap year—a time meant for freedom and exploration—I had unknowingly packed emotional baggage alongside my travel essentials. We all do.
It doesn’t matter what my baggage is, nor whether it mirrors yours. What matters is that we all carry weight—heavy, difficult things that colour or dull our experience as we move through life. This weight keeps us perpetually 'on,' and being 'on' all the time drains us. In the world we've built, everything feels extra, and as humans, we were never designed for this level of constant stimulation. We aren’t naturally equipped with the tools to balance responsibilities, expectations, and daily survival in this fast-paced reality.
The simplicity of caring for oneself and loved ones, ensuring their safety, and having enough time and money for them to flourish is no small feat. I don’t have children, but the healer I visited was convinced that I did. I explained that I had just left a management position, and she smiled knowingly. “Ahh, yes, children.” I hadn’t realized how deeply I had absorbed the worries of my team, how much I had unconsciously carried. And so, my release was profound—so intense that I burst the blood vessels around my eyes. Now, I wear what looks like tiny blood-red freckles, a visible reminder of what I let go.
These kinds of ceremonies aren’t for everyone, and five years ago, I might not have considered it myself. But my body had been warning me for years about the effects of stress, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Immersing myself in the world of yoga, teacher training, and deep introspection has made one thing clear: we are all wounded. And we all need release.
Maybe it’s childhood trauma. Maybe it’s a heartbreak that left scars. A toxic workplace. A deep-seated belief that we aren’t worthy, planted by those who should have lifted us up. Whatever it is, every single one of us needs to be held, seen. And sometimes, being held by a stranger—someone who sees you clearly, without the biases of your past—is what makes all the difference. There is power in that kind of witnessing, in that kind of letting go.
The ceremony was conducted in a language I didn’t speak, but I trusted the words. I trusted the hands that guided me—women with love in their hearts, empathy in their eyes, and a deep connection to nature. I wasn’t looking for answers from them. I was looking inside myself. They were my guides, not my leaders. It was my journey to walk; they simply held space for it.
The Ceremony
I waited in a small café surrounded by rice fields, a butterfly keeping me company. I like to think it was my Nan watching over me. When the time came, I followed the stepping stones to a traditional Balinese house—simple, unembellished, yet rich with presence. I sipped on Rosella tea as a cat curled up nearby. There, I reflected on what I was about to experience.
Inside the house, a woman sat cross-legged, waiting to do a reading. She saw into me—not just with cards, but through energy, through presence. Every reading is unique, tailored to what each person needs. Afterwards, I was given a sarong and belt for the ceremony—garments I would keep as a token of this transformation.
Dressed for the ritual, I followed them to the far corner of the garden. Before several deities, I was purified with water and prayer. Then came the moment of release. They screamed, and I screamed with them. They chanted, pressing into my back, urging me to let go. It was messy. Loud. But life is meant to be messy and loud. So, I went for it. With no intention of holding back, I screamed as if I were exorcising every ounce of buried weight within me. My body shook. My legs went numb and tingly. And then... lightness. Something had shifted. Something had been set free.
With my energy raw and open, I moved to another sacred corner to sit in contemplation. To just be. Finally, I was guided to receive a blessing from another healer—perhaps the first woman’s sister. The first could see; the second could only feel. She prayed with me, guiding me through the five stages of the Balinese flower prayer. She left me with wisdom, words that landed deep in my heart, as if she had reached into my very essence and articulated truths I had not yet spoken aloud.
Though the team positioned cameras for social media, I chose not to share any footage. Some things are just for me. Besides, I’m an ugly crier. Hehe.
But I will share this: I walked away from that ceremony lighter. Not empty, but clearer. More myself. Letting go isn’t a single act—it’s a practice, a lifelong unravelling. And sometimes, we need help loosening the grip.
