Medicine in Human Form
Aug 31, 2025
Some people are medicine.
Not the kind you swallow in a capsule or brew into a tea, but the kind that arrives in human form—healing hearts, soothing minds and restoring soul depth connection.
An hour with them feels like a soothing remedy on a wound you didn’t even realise was aching.
Their presence steadies you.
Their laughter softens you.
Their way of being in the world somehow stitches you back together.
They are not measured in teaspoons or prescribed by a doctor, yet their medicine is potent.
You spend time with them and everything feels lighter, easier, more wholesome.
This week has been full of these moments.
Little doses of heart medicine wrapped in connection, celebration and togetherness.
Sacred conversations over meals, laughter that lingers long after being together and the simple joy of being with people whose presence is enough to restore your spirit.
Medicine doesn’t always come in bottles.
Sometimes, it comes in people.
This week reminded me that some of the deepest connections and medicine isn’t found in right here, in the ordinary magic of family moments rather than grand healing ceremonies or far-off retreats.
Midweek on Wednesday night we gathered for family dinner. The table became an altar of love as we celebrated the birthdays of my two beautiful nieces.
Laughter spilled over plates, stories tumbled across the table, and when the candles were lit, I watched the sparkle in their eyes as they leaned forward to blow them out. It felt like watching the flame of life glow even brighter through growth, hope, joy and love.
Laughter spilled over plates, stories tumbled across the table, and when the candles were lit, I watched the sparkle in their eyes as they leaned forward to blow them out. It felt like watching the flame of life glow even brighter through growth, hope, joy and love.
Then on Friday night, I had the joy of minding two of my first cousins.
The room filled with chatter, play and the sweet chaos of children—untamed energy that wakes something inside of you. Their giggles were like little healing notes, weaving joy through the evening and reminding me of the innocence of seeing the world through wide-open eyes.
The room filled with chatter, play and the sweet chaos of children—untamed energy that wakes something inside of you. Their giggles were like little healing notes, weaving joy through the evening and reminding me of the innocence of seeing the world through wide-open eyes.
These are the everyday miracles of family life: family dinners, birthday candles and celebrations, sticky fingerprints on your heart.
We often go searching for medicine in special places, yet sometimes the truest healing is right here—in the laughter of loved ones, in the sweetness of children, in the ordinary moments that stitch us back together.
We often go searching for medicine in special places, yet sometimes the truest healing is right here—in the laughter of loved ones, in the sweetness of children, in the ordinary moments that stitch us back together.
This morning, I met a dear soul elder—one of those wise, radiant women who carries stories and grace in equal measure.
We chose Home at the Bay as our meeting place and the name and the music that was playing in the background could not have been more fitting.
From the moment we sat down, my heart truly felt at home.
The food was scrumptious and nourishing but it was the conversation that became the true feast.
We spoke of life, love, change and the quiet truths that only rise when you sit in great company.
Every word was like honey, every pause a reminder that silence itself can be medicine.
We spoke of life, love, change and the quiet truths that only rise when you sit in great company.
Every word was like honey, every pause a reminder that silence itself can be medicine.
There is something sacred about sharing space with women who have walked further along the path. They remind you that you are exactly where you need to be—not by teaching, fixing or advising, but by embodying a wisdom that simply is.
Breakfast with her was more than a meal; it was a blessing.
The kind of blessing that lingers long after, when your heart exhales, your spirit feels seen and you carry the sweetness with you into the rest of the day.
The kind of blessing that lingers long after, when your heart exhales, your spirit feels seen and you carry the sweetness with you into the rest of the day.
On Friday night, my teenage cousin asked if I still posted videos of myself dancing on social media–uninhibited, free, wild in expression. She admitted she missed them and her words stopped me in my tracks.
What I had always thought of as a playful expression of joy, she saw as something more. For her, it was medicine.
What I had always thought of as a playful expression of joy, she saw as something more. For her, it was medicine.
In that moment, I was reminded of a simple but powerful truth: sometimes our light is the very thing someone else needs. Our willingness to move, to laugh, to share freely can ripple outward in ways we may never realise.
For me, dancing has always been a form of medicine that elicits joy, liberation, release—a way of returning home to myself.
After breakfast I came home and let my body move again. Barefoot in the grass, with the sun shining above me and radiating from within, I danced. It wasn’t choreographed, it wasn’t polished—it was pure, unfiltered and flowing freedom.
In true wild woman spirit, todays ‘dance party’ sone was none other than Levels by Avicii—because some tunes truly do lift your soul higher the moment the beat drops.
To me, it felt like sunshine moving through skin and soul.
To her, it was a reminder that it is okay to live unfiltered and that is medicine in itself.
This week also held a different kind of medicine.
Two groups of my soul sisters gathered together in other places, and even though I wasn’t there I felt no trace of FOMO. Instead, my heart was glad, knowing they were laughing, sharing and weaving memories of their own.
While they were together, I was across the table from another dear soul sister—her presence filling me with the same warmth and joy. That is the beauty of soul connection: there is no scarcity, no missing out.
There is only the knowing that love is abundant and ever-flowing.
I trust they had an amazing time, just as I did.
This is what it means to hold both—to celebrate the medicine they received while receiving my own in a different way. The soul sisters in my life are like stars in a constellation—shining separately, yet always connected, each one adding light to the same sky.
How do I know who the medicine people are in my life?
I notice how my body responds.
My shoulders drop.
My breath deepens.
My heart opens.
I laugh louder, softer, freer.
I feel safe enough to be unpolished, unguarded, undone.
Time bends—an hour with them can feel like a whole day of restoration.
The medicine people don’t hand us answers or fix our wounds.
They don’t need to.
They don’t rescue, prescribe or perform.
They simply are.
They carry a frequency, an energy, a love that reminds us who we are.
In the presence of these humans, we remember our own wholeness.
Use these journal prompts to reflect on the people who feel like medicine in your life. Those who soothe your heart, spark your laughter and leave you more whole than before.
Who are the medicine people in your life?
Who do you leave feeling lighter, brighter, more at peace?
Who allows you to breathe deeper, laugh louder, soften into rest?
Who reminds you of your own wild beauty simply by being themselves?
Perhaps most importantly how might you be medicine for someone else, simply by being who you are?
Not all medicine comes in bottles, herbs or tinctures.
Sometimes, medicine comes disguised as people—nieces and family members blowing out birthday candles, cousins asking us to dance again, soul elders sipping coffee across the table, sisters laughing together in different places yet always connected.
May we notice them.
May we cherish them.
May we remember that we all carry medicine within us.
Medicine in the form of presence, of joy, of love—waiting to be shared in the simplest, most human of ways.
Sometimes the greatest healing doesn’t come from doing anything at all, but from being someone’s medicine in human form.
