My story’s a lot like trying to find your way home on a foggy night—it’s hard to see, but you keep moving anyway, hoping you’re on the right road.
Some nights, that fog is so thick you wonder if you should’ve even left the house in the first place.
But then—just for a second—you catch a glimpse of moonlight cutting through. And it’s just enough to remind you: you got this.
Or maybe it’s more like an old playlist you made back when you swore music could fix anything. Every song takes you back to a moment you needed to feel.
Or maybe it’s like rolling out an old yoga mat. Beat up, a little sweat-stained from days you didn’t think you’d make it. But it’s yours—holding stories only you can tell. Every stretch, every wobble, every savasana… it’s all part of you.
That’s how life shows up sometimes—all over the place, full of things you didn’t think would matter. Moments you didn’t see coming. Parts of yourself you’re still figuring out.
That’s what I’m all about. That’s the kind of space I hope Erth Bodi feels like for you.
A place where you can land. Where your story can show up, no polish required. Just dig deep, breathe, and rediscover you.
I hope Erth Bodi gives you what you’ve been searching for—a space where your story can breeeatheee.
Where you reconnect with the pieces of yourself that scream “I f#%ck with me” and “F#%CK ME”—LOL, all of it. It’s here.
🖤
Savon >.<
Behind me… the person… savon
human, ol’ lady, mama, artisan, dreamweaver, yogi, free spirit, misfit
15 years back, I was that kid with a busted pair of Vans and a playlist full of feelings I didn’t have my own words for yet.
I loved spinning the rack of rings and gauges at Hot Topic and I’m more than sure one of them held a truth about me I couldn’t see yet.
But here’s the thing—I didn’t really know myself back then. Not in the way I wanted to.
I could feel something in me, though.
A quiet, wild kind of magic—too big for the life I was living, too restless to fit where I was trying to squeeze in.
And I’ll be honest—It scared the hell out of me.
Daydreaming what might happen if I let it show, scared of how people might see me.
So I played it safe. Tucked my magic away like it wasn’t mine to claim.
I buried it so deep, even I couldn’t reach it. And the more I ignored it, the harder it got to trust myself.
My confidence slipped away like sand between my fingers.
But even then, I was chasing something real.
Something that felt like mine, something that belonged to me, even if it came out messy or loud or not how people expected.
Looking back now, I see it clear—those cracks, that ache of getting to know me, they were my allies in the search for myself.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
And that’s the heartbeat of Erth Bodi—helping you uncover your flow, your magic, your story.
Because the world doesn’t need a polished version of you—it needs the one who’s still unfolding.
If you’ve carried a lesson through the fire, if you’ve found something worth sharing, let’s tell that story.
What’s your take on living, loving, and staying whole in a world that tries to pull you apart?
Tell me what you’ve learned. Let’s write that story together.
I’ve been there—staring at a life that sucked, wondering if this is all there is.
I went to college, but it felt like someone else’s dream—like I was living on borrowed time.
So I broke up with the life I thought I wanted—tossed it like an old jacket that never really fit anyway.
I left Juneau to sling lattes in Seattle and save, counting every dollar and every doubt.
Maybe you’ve felt it too—that heavy ache when the overthinking fades, and you realize you’re carrying dreams that aren’t even yours.
I’d sit in my car between shifts, writing it out, reminding myself, “There’s more.”
I’ve been there—staring at a life that sucked, wondering if this is all there is.
I went to college, but it felt like someone else’s dream—like I was living on borrowed time.
I learned something we all face at some point: “You don’t have to leave, but you can’t stay.”
Whether it’s a hometown (IYKYK), a mindset, or a version of yourself that no longer feels real, stepping away is messy—like peeling off old skin and feeling vulnerable under the weight of what’s next while the world goes to sh!t around you.
That’s where we always find each other—caught between what we’ve left behind and what’s just out of reach.
Somewhere between where I came from and where I was headed, I realized I wasn’t alone in this awkward becoming.
Or whatever the hell is happening.
Stepping away from the life you thought you’d always have strips you bare.
It’s like walking out of a warm room into the wind—sharp, cold as hell, but damn, it makes you feel something real.
It forces you to stop, to wonder—“Is this it? Is this me?”
But that’s where the magic is. The joy, the tears, the growth. Those rare moments when, deep down, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
Meant to be in the living moment.
Where you show up—present, vulnerable, raw. Where, for the first time, you feel at home in your own skin.
If you’ve been stuck between “goodbye old me” and “hello new me,” you know that feeling sucks.
But that’s where it all starts—in the spaces that ache, where you feel empty.
That’s where you build something real.
You don’t need all the answers right now.
Just keep showing up.
Show up in mind, body, and soul.
Yoga off the mat:
Flow isn’t just movement—it’s how you meet the ups and downs of life.
No mat required.
Choosing to be here brings me closer to who I am and who I’m becoming. And I love that for me.
I’m a mom too. It’s chaos and love, mess and wonder—all at once. And somehow, I’m okay with it.
Crafting, mothering, tending the roots—bringing soul medicine back to the people.
You can read between the lines here.
Life feels better when it moves with you, not against you.
The kitchen’s where I pour love into the small things and make them sacred.
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I’m in the Pacific Northwest, but my roots run deep—connecting with people in every corner of the world.
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