There’s no shortage of things to do.
Emails unanswered. Laundry in piles. A calendar that fills itself. A world that pulls our attention in a thousand directions—some miraculous, some devastating.
So why, in the midst of all of that, would someone start a cacao business?
The truth is: I didn’t plan to.
I just couldn’t look away.
After years of sitting with cacao—every morning, in ceremony, in stillness, in chaos—I started to hear something. A kind of remembering. A return to rhythm, to heart, to the quiet wisdom of the body. It helped me survive. And then it helped me listen. And then it helped me love.
And when something helps you that much, you don’t just move on.
You make space for it. You make offerings from it.
You carve out time and resources and attention, even when it doesn’t make sense on paper.
This isn’t a strategic career move. It’s not a branding play.
It’s a devotion.
In a time when everything is urgent and everything is burning, it takes serious courage to say yes to something that doesn’t scream for your attention—but rather, whispers to your soul. It takes commitment to follow what’s nourishing when it won’t get you viral views, when it’s slow, when it asks more of you than it gives back in the beginning.
But I know I’m not the only one holding something like this.
We all have these callings.
Some small, some wild, some quiet as a breath.
We all have something we’ve been entrusted with—not to save anyone, not to fix the world, but simply because it’s ours to tend.
This cacao business? It’s mine to tend.
It’s not about being a healer or expert or savior. It’s about being someone who couldn’t ignore what opened her heart—and choosing to make more of that possible in the world.
So this is your reminder: if there’s something you’ve been circling around, something that keeps tugging at your sleeve, you don’t need the perfect time. You don’t need to be perfect either.
You just need to begin.
And keep choosing it.
Again and again.
In the wake of everything else.