I had started several companies in technology and real estate. I was living an Instagram life, posting photos of houses, cars, and travel while smiling. But on the inside, I had a quiet dissatisfaction. Even though on the outside I appeared to be happy and high-functioning, on the inside I felt directionless. Purposeless.
And then I found ceremony.
In 2020, I was invited to join an Ayahuasca retreat for entrepreneurs. I signed up thinking it was a networking opportunity. I scoffed at spiritual concepts, I considered myself agnostic, bordering on atheist. I went in filled with pride. I could not have been more wrong.
That formative journey defined the rest of my life. I wrote Remembering My Memories afterward to share the story of regaining memories my mind had repressed, the discovery of an original trauma that, once met, began to dissolve. Ceremonia grew from that recognition: that the work is not yours to do alone, and that real healing happens in community.
When I looked for a place to go that was both clinically grounded and held with genuine care, I couldn’t find one. Underground felt unsafe. Clinical felt cold. Ceremonia is the space in between, legal, prepared, and human.