Honu
Revealing the Shape of Home
My honu arrived quietly.
Not as urgency.
She was not demanding.
Rather, a remembering of home.
I didn’t set out to make a turtle. I began with water—layered blues, slow swirls, movement that my nervous system was still learning how to trust. The kind of motion that soothes rather than overwhelms. The kind that reminds the body it is allowed to breathe.
After several layers, her shape emerged.
A shell.
A boundary.
A protector.
Honu carries home wherever she goes. Not as armor, but as wisdom. A living reminder that safety doesn’t require hiding—it simply asks that you honor your own pace and truth.
This image carries me back to a pivotal season in my life. Early in my school counseling career, I moved myself and my young son to Oʻahu—an island I had never visited—with four suitcases, a racing heart, and a deep belief that new beginnings had the potential to create beautiful memories. I didn’t know exactly what awaited us—in fact, I was naïve enough to think we wouldn’t even need a car—only that I was flying us 2,600 miles from Eugene, Oregon to Aiea, Hawaiʻi, guided by a shaky trust to take the leap.
Living in Hawaiʻi taught me how to begin again without guarantees. How to let Kailua Beach hold both fear and wonder at the same time. I learned how to carry home within myself when leaving everything and everyone familiar behind.
That knowing lives in this piece.
The stark white outline slowly gained importance. It holds the movement without stopping it. The waves are still free to move, but they are contained. That’s what this practice has become for me: letting truth flow without allowing it to take me under.
At the center, the word Honu rests naturally where a heart would be. Around it, small offerings appeared—shells, sand dollars, a starfish. Not decorations, but witnesses. Evidence that this process is guided, not forced. Proof that I am protected.
Along the side of the canvas, the word TRUST revealed itself vertically, one letter at a time. Not a bellowed announcement. But perhaps an invitation that builds slowly and grows as you practice listening to the whispers within.
This piece now lives in my Healing Studio by the Ranch. It reminds me that art can be a homecoming. That creativity can cradle what words aren’t yet ready to carry. A declaration that there is a way to return to yourself without rushing the journey.
If you’re here, reading, I invite you to notice how your body responds to this image.
What feels steady?
What feels calm?
What feels like permission?
No pressure.
Just an invitation.