I just returned from a beautiful retreat in the Appalachian Mountains, and I am still reflecting on what brought us all together.
I am always in awe of what brings a group of seeming strangers into the same place, at the same time. People with different lives, different stories, and different paths somehow find themselves gathered together, sharing space and witnessing one another.
As if it were Divinely orchestrated—and you better believe it was—every person in attendance, including the family holding the retreat, finds themselves in a season of profound change. Each of us, in our own way, have recently experienced loss.
And it got me thinking: What is there to harvest when so much loss is experienced in the season of harvest?
You see, traditionally, summer is known as a season of harvest. It is a time of reaping the fruits of our labor, when what was planted and nurtured in previous seasons finally begins to manifest.
We tend to think of harvest as abundance. As receiving. As finally holding in our hands the things we have worked so hard to grow.
But what if harvest is not always about what we materially gain? What if sometimes the harvest is what becomes visible when something is taken away? The spiritual gains created when you face life head-on, full heartedly.
What if what is harvested is clarity. Discernment. The wisdom earned through grief. What if the harvest is the resilience gained in making the hard, necessary choice. The recognition of what we can no longer carry.
What does it mean when you arrive at the season of harvest only to find that so much of what you have worked to build—relationships, friendships, your spiritual beliefs and identity—is seemingly falling apart?
This is where I find myself.
This summer brought experiences that profoundly changed my perspective on my life, my relationships, my beliefs, and the path I have been walking.
Instead of experiencing a summer of extroversion—of sharing teachings and expanding my work—this season asked me to step back and turn within. It asked me to let go of what needed to die and required me to take a hard look at my values, my ethics, and my beliefs.
It asked me to consider whether the life I was building still aligned with what I knew to be true.
Maybe it’s less, “Why is everything falling apart when I have worked so hard to build it?” and more, “What is this season revealing about what I built, what I believed, and what I am now being called to carry forward?”
I am learning that we all see through the lens of what we are ready and willing to see. Sometimes, change arrives gradually. Other times, it asks us to reconsider the stories, identities, and attachments we have carried for years.
One of the hardest parts of this season, for me, has been realizing that people I deeply love may not arrive at the same understanding I have. There are beautiful beings whom I have known as dear soulmates—people with whom I have shared friendship, devotion, love, and meaningful seasons of life—who are moving through change in ways different from my own. Some may understand this season differently. Some may continue to hold beliefs that I can no longer hold. Some may remain connected to paths I have found I need to leave.
And that, too, is a loss.
But I am beginning to understand that loss and harvest are not opposites. Sometimes, they are happening at exactly the same time. Sometimes, the harvest is seeing with clear vision after the illusion dissolves. Sometimes, the harvest is watching all that is no longer worthy of our energy or aligned with our values dissolve. Sometimes, the harvest is seeing what needs to be shed and releasing it without hesitation.
For me, the harvest of this season is acknowledging how much I have grown and how honestly I am meeting this moment. It is detaching from what no longer serves me while remaining willing to honor what once did.
It is learning to lead with an open heart and a discerning mind. It is trusting that discernment does not require bitterness, that letting go does not require rejection, and that choosing a different path does not diminish the love I once held for the one I was walking.
There is grief in all of this.
There is grief in realizing that someone you once regarded as wise and worthy of your trust can no longer hold the same place in your life. There is grief in loving people who choose a different path. There is grief in questioning beliefs that once shaped your understanding of yourself and the world.
There is grief in discovering that growth does not always feel like expansion.
Sometimes growth looks like contraction. Sometimes it looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like stepping away. Sometimes it looks like saying, “I can no longer participate in this.” And sometimes growth looks like staying deeply connected to your own heart while finding the courage to change your mind.
Maybe this is what I was being shown in the mountains: a group of seeming strangers, each arriving with their own experience of loss, gathered together at the very time of year we associate with abundance. None of us had arrived empty-handed after all.
Loss brought us to the circle, but our willingness to grieve—to feel, to surrender, to listen, and to be witnessed— yielded a harvest of its own: wisdom, tenderness, humility, clarity, a deeper appreciation for what remains, a greater reverence for what has been lost, and the courage to make room for what wants to come next.
And there, in the circle, we were reminded that even in our deepest seasons of loss, we are never alone.
Maybe the harvest was never only the fruit. Maybe it was also the clearing of the field, the gathering of what has ripened, the recognition of what has not, the honoring of what has died, and the wisdom of discernment.
I don't know exactly what the next season will bring, but I know I am not the same person who entered this summer.
And perhaps that is the harvest.
Not that everything I planted survived. Not that everything I believed remained intact. Not that everything I loved was meant to come with me.
But that I am standing here with clearer vision, deeper discernment, and a greater willingness to meet what is true for me—even when doing so asks me to release what I once believed would last forever.
Sometimes, the harvest is grief transformed into wisdom. And sometimes, the greatest thing we reap is the freedom to choose what we will carry into the next season.
Author’s Note:
In light of recent allegations concerning Anand Mehrotra, as well as reports of previous allegations spanning many years, I am no longer a student of Anand Mehrotra and have ended my affiliation with him and Sattva Yoga Academy.
I do not condone the conduct described in these allegations. I believe the concerns and experiences that have been brought forward warrant serious attention, accountability, and meaningful response. I call on Anand and Sattva Yoga Academy to address these concerns transparently and to take responsibility for any harm that has occurred.
Given what has come to light, I cannot recommend Anand Mehrotra or Sattva Yoga Academy to students, clients, or members of my community.