In 2016, at the peak of my health crisis, I finally mustered up enough courage and confidence to resign from what had been a 7 year banking career – the first career of my life. The months that followed were both torturous, from a health perspective, and yet miraculous, as I slowly began to heal and once again reconnect with the understanding of the charmed existence that I lead, noticing the Universe turning to show me its many wondrous ways.
In March of that year, I flew down to Rishikesh, in the Himalayas, to join my family for a week-long spiritual discourse. At this discourse, I met Lexie, an attendee, who after hearing about my future plans in ‘alternative medicine’ said she had ideas she’d like to share with me.
The next morning, Lexie showed up to the ashram with a gift for me: “Prakriti” by Dr Robert Svoboda, a small book that explored the basics of Ayurvedic theory in clear and convincing English. Lexie also spoke to me about an Ayurvedic retreat called Vaidyagrama – a place of healing she had heard a lot about and wanted to visit. She ultimately shared that she herself was a breast cancer patient and the 4th generation in her family to have had the illness. She was determined to get better on her own terms, with as little involvement from western conventional medicine as possible. She was resilient and inspiring, but more than that, she set into motion 2 things that have since changed my life.
1) Ayurveda: although I had been exposed to Ayurvedic medicine, I had been in the dark about its philosophy. When I started reading Prakriti, it was akin to reading spiritual poetry: I felt I was scratching the surface of a wondrous, deep and mystical science. Lexie began this fascination that I now feel for Ayurveda because of her gift of the book Prakriti.
2) Vaidyagrama: Vaidyagrama was already known to me because my father was associated with its founder, Dr Ramkumar Kutty, and had been involved in one of Vaidyagrama’s projects. Simply because my father was involved, I’d already written off the whole thing in my mind because at that time, my relationship, or lack of, with my father, clouded everything. However, once again, Lexie planted the Vaidyagrama seed in my mind, and with my sister’s encouragement, I reluctantly reached out to my father. I told him I wanted to visit Vaidyagrama, that I had resigned from my job, read a book called Prakriti by Dr Svoboda, and wanted to learn more about Ayurveda. In a matter of days, my father turned it around and arranged a month-long stay for me at Vaidyagrama. I booked myself to fly down in July 2016.
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The Vaidyagrama experience was pivotal in my post-investment banking healing. For the first time since working, I suddenly felt that other people believed in my purpose in this world. I felt like I was able to do something beneficial with my life, and my friends and teachers at Vaidyagrama reflected that confidence back to me. A few of the friends I made there said such uncanny things to me, with no prior knowledge of my background, that their words continue to echo in my mind till today. The Vaidyagrama experience triggered the beginning of the return to myself.
I was also given advice by the founding doctor, Dr Ramkumar, whilst there that I have shared with some of you; advice that I often think about daily and which has informed the way I perceive myself and my every action.
Lastly, my relationship with my father began to heal – something I became conscious of when Dr Ramkumar astutely told me, “now that you’ve committed yourself to becoming a healer, the universe has turned to heal you first”.
I had so many things to be grateful for. My life changed miraculously in a matter of months. If I traced its path, Lexie was the catalyst. On my ‘List of Things To Do’ that year, “write to say thank you to Lexie” was a prominent feature.
However, I never wrote to her. I was the sort of person who needed to be in the right ‘head space’ before I could write a meaningful letter or text to someone, so I put it off, and I put it off again.
Then in May 2017, one night whilst scrolling Facebook, Lexie’s profile popped up on my newsfeed. My instant reaction was “Oh, I still haven’t written to Lexie”, and then, as I continued to read, my heart felt like it had stopped beating. What I was reading was an obituary – a condolence message – on Lexie’s Facebook profile, mourning her death. She was gone.
I can’t remember the details of what followed, but they involved a daze of tears, remorse, regret, and grief that I unwittingly flung myself into. I tried to track the trajectory of her illness and how she had died. I discovered blog posts that she had written, whilst almost on her deathbed. Her sweetness and humility stung me because she had essentially changed my life, and I – in my procrastination and diffidence – had not been bothered to acknowledge her in return.
The week that followed was the first time in my life that I allowed myself to feel deep grief. The daughter of a stoic, and having become an Ayn Rand fan in my 20s, I had thought strength and ability were only real if I could control my emotions — the result of which was emotional suppression for the better part of a decade. This time, my understanding of healing had changed, and Lexie in her death helped me to explore what really happens when we allow ourselves to feel and grieve.
I cried and journalled for a week, turned to friends who gave me spiritual advice, and essentially let myself go. It constantly felt like there was a little less sunshine in the world – I could not think of Lexie without my heart breaking a little everytime.
And then, at the end of that week, it was as if the fog lifted just as unexpectedly as it had come. I emerged through the other side – and knew it to be the other side – because all that was left was a feeling of immense peace. Thinking of Lexie brought me peace. There was no pain, no judgement, no emotion. All that I was left with was a deep sense of certainty that fate had played its hand, and that was okay. I felt blessed and oddly grateful. There was so much beauty in this world.
Oh Lexie, even in death you showed me lessons that I could never have learnt any other way. One of my biggest lessons from your death has been to never procrastinate on my friendships: if someone does something good for me, or does something good in their own lives that I am witness to today, I tell them. I don’t waste time bothering with a ‘head space’ or the right moment. I tell them that they have done something wonderful – and this new way of communicating has now changed almost every interaction and friendship of mine. How I now approach people informs how they now approach me. Relationships have begun reaching a level of dignity and understanding that I couldn’t have previously conceived.
I believe with great conviction now that every terrible low holds in it the wisdom for profound growth and understanding. In my case, many of my best lessons have been learnt the hard way, but in truth I feel no regret around this – only joy.
May this little story remind you too that residing within each experience of suffering is the most beautiful lesson. Let our journey be to access this lesson – to use it to experience our ultimate freedom.