Unlocking Midlife Freedom

A Shaman's Lesson in Ditching Doubt

What if the only thing standing between you and freedom was doubt?

We’ve been trained to live in fear instead of trust. How unfortunate, given Mother Nature’s default is to trust.

Women, especially, have been conditioned not to trust themselves. It’s how the patriarchy keeps us disconnected from our power, and capitalism thrives. If we trusted ourselves, we’d never do what those in power want, and society would change so fast—in a good way—it would give you whiplash.

I want us to get back in alignment with Mother Nature. To trust that all is unfolding as it should. And most importantly, to trust ourselves over all others.

Trust Was Waiting for Me in Bali

With everything coming at us, living in trust may seem impossible. But I know differently, thanks to a solo trip I took to Bali.

It was one of those “I need to re-find myself” trips. I wrote in my journal, “I feel the need to be still. To get out of my head and into my body.”

On the plane, I got confirmation from the Universe I was on the right track. Of the hundreds of movies I could have chosen, I picked the one where the female lead is told just that—to get out of her head.

A few days into my trip, I went to see a Balinese healer and shaman named Tjokorda Gde Rai. He was the grandson of the last King of Ubud and had been communing with deities and spirits for over forty years.

Tjokorda was thin as a rail but full of youthful vibrancy. As I entered the compound, a few people sat cross-legged watching him work on a young Australian woman.

He saw people on a first-come, first-serve basis. I joined the others on the ground, waiting my turn.

He told the young woman she had issues with her blood, hormones, and something with her back. Running off briefly, he returned with an herb he instructed her to take.

Her mother went next. She was told her problem was passion—it had died long ago and needed reawakening. He whispered something in her daughter’s ear, clearly not wanting us to hear it.

Then it was my turn. Tjokorda sat on a chair and had me sit on the ground in front of him.

He asked, “What can I do for you?” Though I’d come feeling lost and in need of guidance, I couldn’t put words together. I settled on a physical ailment I’d struggled with since my early 20s—pain in my lower back.

“No, this is not your problem,” he said immediately.

Then he began diagnosing—moving fast—using his hands. He touched my head in different places, stuck his fingers in my ears, tilted my head back, splayed his hands along my neck as if his fingers were listening for things. It felt strange but fascinated me. When he finished, he declared I was in good health.

“What can I do for you?” he asked again.

I was at a loss. Something felt off, but I couldn’t say what.

He had me lie back and started pressing points on my left toes with what looked like a wooden chopstick—each point he pressed represented a function, body part, or quality.

“Does that hurt?” he asked after the first poke.

No.

“Does this hurt?” again, no.

The ritual repeated as he worked his way along my left toes. Just as I began to relax, a sharp pain shot up my leg.

I yelped and pulled back. He chuckled, eyes sparkling.

He pressed the same point again. “This hurts?”

“Oww! Yes!” I said, pulling away again.

He poked the point one more time. “Can you stop that?” I asked as I tried to take back my foot.

He continued to chuckle, wide and cheeky.

“What is that?” I asked.

He looked at me and said, “It’s doubt.”

I immediately started to cry. His diagnosis dug deep into my core. He’d named what I couldn’t put into words—the block to my true self.

“You must trust. The past is in the past,” he said.

Then he placed his feet on top of mine. I lay there looking up at him as he spoke what sounded like a prayer and pressed points all over my body. It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two.

He pressed the same painful toe point again.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” I said, surprised. The pain was completely gone.

He grinned. “No more doubt, you must trust. You’ve come to Bali to become a new person. No more doubt.” He mentioned my back pain was residue from the doubt and, with that, sent me on my way.

The driver had waited for me, and as he drove me back, I told him my diagnosis. He looked puzzled. It was clear in his culture, doubt wasn’t a thing.

Returning home from my trip, I felt different. I was in a period of no work which usually brought on anxiety and doubt. Welp, thanks to Tjokorda, there was only trust. It felt strange to trust so deeply. I was used to being on high alert anticipating worst-case scenarios.

At one point, I tried to go down worry rabbit holes—What if I don’t book a gig? What if my career fizzles? What if I have to take a job I hate?

Nope. My doubtful self was nowhere to be found. That deep trust lasted six months strong, and even years later, I rarely sink back into old levels of doubt.

Tjokorda Gde Rai passed away in 2021, but I’ll always be grateful for the gift he gave me—a radical trust that became a catalyst for one of my major life rebirths.

It’s no wonder women have trust issues given the consistent message from our culture: “We don’t trust you.” This treatment conditions us to distrust ourselves. To reclaim that trust and become our own gurus—we must disconnect from the systems that tell us otherwise.

My experience with Tjokorda Gde Rai proves we can banish this doubt brought on by societal conditioning. He may not be here to help us but I’m certain we can band together as a collective and accomplish the same thing.

Reclaiming Trust Is an Act of Rebellion

In my book, Joybellion: Transforming Midlife Insignificance Into Freedom, Power, and Everyday Magic, I guide readers to rework three crucial relationships that impact our trust of self: our relationships with the status quo, with fear, and with intuition.

Radical trust in yourself is an act of rebellion. A return to nature’s wisdom.

Just as Mother Nature trusts her constant evolution, so can we trust our own transformation.

The journey is worth it because on the other side of trust is freedom.

I’m curious: When has doubt held you back? Or when has trust catapulted you forward? Share your story in the comments—I’d love to hear from you.

---

Thank you for being a part of the magic and mischief here—I’m grateful for your presence. If you want to keep the Joybellion thriving, here’s how you can support:

• ‘Heart’ this post to spread the good vibes and boost its reach

• Drop a comment—I love hearing from you and do my best to respond

• Share this post by email or on social media, including Substack’s ‘Notes’

• All my content is free to access, but a paid subscription fuels the movement and keeps it free for everyone

• Or leave a one-time tip by buying me a tea

  To the Joybellion.