At Home Where You Are

When waters get rough, sea turtle teaches us to dive deeper and trust the currents.

Sea turtle in graphite and watercolor, Nona Jordan 2025

I'm floating in the warm Hawaiian waters

That afternoon, I was enchanted as I floated suspended above a sea turtle who seemed utterly unbothered by my presence. We drifted together in the gentle swell, both of us rocked by the same ancient ocean rhythm. Below me, the turtle methodically munched on coral, scraping away to get at the algae underneath. The sound is surprisingly loud in the underwater quiet—a steady, purposeful grinding that was somehow the most peaceful meditation track I've ever heard.

This is Electric Beach on Oahu's west side, and it's not exactly paradise by postcard standards. The shoreline is rocky, the entry sporty enough to challenge even confident swimmers, and the currents are known to be tricky. But once you push beyond the breaking waves into the open ocean, magic unfolds. The warm water discharge from the nearby power plant creates an underwater oasis that draws dolphins, reef sharks, schools of tropical fish, and most treasured of all—the sea turtles.

In this moment, floating with my shelled companion, any anxiety about dangerous tides simply dissolves. The turtle and I are held by something larger than both of us, rocked in the cradle of the Pacific.

Turtle, your medicine is welcome.

Sea turtles carry their homes on their backs, masters of both adventurous journeys and a sense of belonging where they are. Depending on the species, they might be epic long-distance travelers crossing entire ocean basins, or regional homebodies who know every reef and current in their neighborhood. I am astonished that their gender is determined not at conception but by the temperature of the sand when they hatch, making them masters of adaptation to a volatile environment. With their hard protective shells and soft vulnerable bellies, they embody a profound truth: you can carry both safety and sensitivity wherever you go.

Years later, in a neurologist's office, turtle resurfaced.

The MS diagnosis arrived like a riptide—sudden, disorienting, changing everything about how I understood my body and future uncertainty. In those early days of processing the unthinkable, I noticed my shoulders had become perpetually tight, my chest curved slightly forward in a protective hunch. When I sat quietly with my body, I could feel it clearly: I was trying to grow my own shell.

My nervous system was attempting to create the same protection I'd witnessed in turtle—I so wanted a hard barrier between my soft animal body and a world that suddenly felt much less safe. But unlike my graceful ocean companion, I was carrying this protection as tension, as armor that was exhausting to maintain.

The turtle is not hypervigilant.

Even with predators in the depths, even in stormy seas, the turtle moves with a fundamental ease. When danger is real, she simply pulls her soft parts under her shell until it passes. When storms rage on the surface, she dives deeper to find calmer waters. The turtle doesn't waste energy being perpetually braced for impact. She trusts herself to meet the moment.

Could I learn to trust my body again, given this new knowledge, without being constantly on guard?

I began asking myself turtle's questions: Can I trust my own ability to find safety when I need it, without maintaining a constant defensive posture? Can I be soft and protected at the same time? What would it feel like to carry home within myself, rather than seeking it in circumstances that could change at any moment?

Slowly, like learning to float all over again, I began to find my shoulders softening. Not because the diagnosis had changed or the future had become more certain, but because I was held in turtle's essential teaching: true security doesn't come from hardening against life's storms, but from knowing you can navigate whatever currents arise.

When I feel the familiar tightness creeping back into my shoulders now, I remember that moment floating with the turtle. I remember how she moved through her underwater world with such unhurried grace, carrying everything she needed right there on her back. I take a breath, feel my feet on the ground or my body in the water, and ask: Where is home right now? The answer is always the same—right here, in this body, in this moment, in this one wild and precious life.

The Invitation

If turtle swims into your awareness, you're being invited to locate the safety and security of home within yourself. Stormy seas may be at hand, but turtle assures you that even if you're feeling off course, you know the way. You have the resources and the wisdom to navigate whatever currents carry you forward.

The turtle doesn't fight the ocean's rhythm—she becomes part of it, diving deeper when necessary, surfacing when it's time to breathe. She carries her protection and her vulnerability in perfect balance, never having to choose between safety and openness to life's flow.

Turtle medicine whispers: You are already home. You are already safe. You are already exactly where you need to be.

What would change in your life if you truly believed you could carry home with you wherever you go and be both perfectly protected and perfectly vulnerable no matter what?