I have been working as a drama therapist since 2009, and my practice is not defined by a demographic or a series of diagnosis that I attend to . Instead, my client base is wonderfully diverse. I work with racialized communities, Spanish speakers, people carrying stories of migration, war and displacement, LGBTQ+ and gender-diverse communities, and people living with the impacts of early childhood trauma and family adversity. At the heart of much of this work is a shared experience: I work with people who live within systems that have defined them as “other”—told them that they do not belong, that they do not matter, or that they are less than.

I too know the experience of being othered. Growing up in Nepean, just outside Ottawa, I was frequently asked, "Where are you REALLY from?" The struggle to answer that question has shaped my life's work—as a community organizer, drama therapist, educator, and researcher—creating spaces where people experience belonging, discover that they matter, and are witnessed in their full humanity.

I am from my abuelo Mauricio, whose brown weathered hand held mine as the Atlantic waves crashed against my legs while I squealed with delight. I am from my tía Patricia, a psychotherapist who spoke passionately about using her own story in her disability justice work. As a wheelchair user who is paraplegic Patricia showed me how lived experience became a bridge to authentic connection with her clients. Through her, I learned to bring my whole self into the therapy room.

I am from my tía Yuyi, whose unconditional love taught me that belonging is something we can offer one another. And from my parents who built community in a cold, cold place, by welcoming newly arrived Central and South American families into our home to share language, empanadas, lomitos and stories of la patria - the homeland.

Whenever I return to the water—whether ocean, lake, or river—I reconnect with that little girl holding her grandfather's hand. I remember the salty air of Mar del Plata and the feeling that, in that moment, everything was exactly as it should be. I remember belonging.

These are the stories that have led me to co-organize Rooted & Alive with Esther Kalaba they are about belonging and a deep sense that we—and the living world around us—matter.

Surrounded by towering trees, fresh air, and the rhythms of the natural world, this conference invites us to reconnect with ourselves, each other, and the stories that have shaped us, while discovering new ways of belonging to the places that sustain us.

Now, as the mother of a seven-year-old daughter, my relationship with the Earth has deepened. I want the same forests, waters, and moments of wonder that rooted me as a child to hold her and future generations. Through my research and therapeutic work, I witness the grief and uncertainty many young people carry about our changing climate. Their questions remind me that belonging is not only about where we come from—it is also about our responsibility to what holds us. Caring for people and caring for the Earth are inseparable practices. When we enter nature with openness, we breathe more deeply, our nervous systems settle, and we reconnect. Nature becomes our co-therapist, reminding us that as we care for the land, the land cares for us.

So as you prepare to join us at Rooted & Alive, I invite you to reflect:

Who and what have rooted you?

Who held your hand?

What landscapes shaped your nervous system?

What stories taught you how to love?

And how do we care for what holds us?

Let us leave this gathering more connected to ourselves, our practice, the land, and one another.

More rooted.

More alive.