The stories of the yogic deities personify the different energies we move through in our lives. The story I’m about to share is related to the energy of Kali, the goddess of destruction, death, and re-creation.

Our extended two-and-a-half months of summer were coming to an end. It had been a time filled with connection, adventure, deep learning, and growth. Yet, by this point, our nerves were a bit frayed, and our kids were begging to return to school.

Then, an alert on my phone buzzed

WARNING

a hurricane was headed our way.

It was the day before our flight back to Costa Rica, and we had been toiling all day to pack up and prep the “river house,” our home for the last month, in anticipation of the impending storm.

The girls and I had experienced the destruction of a tropical storm that transformed into six separate tornadoes just three years prior. It was a genuinely terrifying and unheard-of event for the area.

The intermittent storm alerts triggered memories of that traumatic night of tornadoes. This memory still lived vividly in our bodies. The hurricane's proximity was causing the kids considerable stress. They

were begging and crying for us to leave for Grandma's house, safely miles away, and they wanted to do it immediately.

By the time we finished the rush to close up the house, the children and dog were in the backseat, huddled together under the blankets. As the sky grew two shades darker, we pulled away.

You could feel the collective exhale as we turned our attention toward a warm, safe dinner with my mother and a cozy sleep before our 4:00 a.m. departure the next day.

Maryland blue crab cakes, a glass of chardonnay, and heart-felt conversation filled our souls as we snuggled in conversation all the way to midnight.

“You have our passports, right?”

No answer.

“Patrick?”

His face is blank: that look you get when you are scrolling through the last two months, multiple cities and beds, trying to recall where the blue blazes could the Passports be.

My choice was to support Patrick in the mission, to be his co-pilot into the storm. The wind rattled our car as we drove, and rain blew across the highway. I questioned my decision.

As carefully as he was driving, I did not feel safe, and who would raise our two children if we did not return? Soon, the stress reached a crescendo, and I found myself fiercely spilling my stress and frustration.

For those of you in long-term relationships with younger kids, there is always some amount of “go along to get along,” well, let me tell you, in that circumstance, driving into a howling, dark night, I unearthed all of those times where I had held in or looked past over the last several months.

AND

How could HE forget the passports!?!?!?

Without planning it, these circumstances and the storm were the catalysts for our couple’s unspoken shadows to be on full display. It all played out while barreling down the highway, trying not to miss a plane, lol. The rain and wind matched my energy, and we moved together, leaving no stone of pain unturned. Patrick offered space for me to rail for the next hour until we reached the house.

As we pulled in, we saw a giant oak tree lying across the front lawn, the first casualty of the storm.

The gusts of wind howled around us, and I could feel the power of nature and my fury in rhythm.

We consciously paused the conversation, jumped into action, and In five minutes, we had located the passports, high-fived, and were back in the car driving away from the storm. We returned to the conversation with nothing but time and just us in the car.

As we distanced ourselves from the storm, I managed to organize my hurt and unseen parts into constructive requests and, ultimately, a deeper understanding of each other.

At 3:45 a.m., we arrived back at my mom’s house exhausted and cleansed from the experience.

Kali is the goddess of death and destruction. She is fierce. She is the storm, and she is my heated furry, and she is the sound of the oak tree as it fell. With death and destruction comes clarity and rebirth. Patrick and I needed a moment to be in this fierce energy, to get hot, blow our tops so we could return to repair and coherence.

The night before we left to fly home had given way to a flood of emotions that helped us to recognize our shadows. It was time to put the night behind us and move efficiently as a family. The drive to the airport is quiet, with us moving and vibing in the same direction and feeling heard yet tender. We step up to the counter, smiling as we hand them our passports.

They look at our dog, Pumpkin Spice.

The attendant asks;

“Do you have the flight approval papers for your dog?”

Patrick turns to me, now it’s my turn - as I return his questioning look with a blank stare…