The Art of Being Towed In:
There are moments in life when the body speaks louder than the mind, when something inside you begins to ache not to stop you, but to guide you. This is one of those moments.
This is the story of being towed in.
From the darkness, we rode toward the shores of shining stars, a bay of bioluminescent life floating just beneath the surface. The journey was long and strenuous as we moved across an open ocean bay, the currents pulling at us, at times gently, at times with force.
There is something about the ocean that reveals truth. You can choose your direction. You can set your course. But the currents will still come. They will pull you off the path, test your strength, and invite you into resistance.
In those moments, something deeper is asked of you. Not just effort, but awareness, not just force, but alignment. This is a story of one such experience, of letting go to move forward.
I sat in the back of the kayak, my friend in the front, as we paddled toward that illuminated shore. With each movement, the rhythm took hold, steady and consuming, until the pull, the pace, the motion was no longer something I was doing, but something I was.
For a moment, I disappeared into it. Until my body spoke.
A quiet ache at first, in my left shoulder, between my ribs, behind my heart. A pain I recognized, one that comes and goes.
And still, I kept paddling.
Because this is what I have always done.
I was raised to be strong. To carry. To hold. To say yes. To keep going, no matter the cost.
So, I did until I couldn’t.
When we reached the bay of light, we paused, floating in the gentle movement of the ocean. As our paddles touched the surface, the water illuminated in sparkles, like stars that had fallen from the sky and were now reflecting back to us.
It was in that stillness that I knew. I could not row myself back.
The pain behind my heart had grown too great. Something in me softened.
And I asked for help.
I asked to be towed in.
The words moved through everything I believed about who I needed to be. Strong. Capable. The one who holds it all.
But in that moment, none of that mattered.
I needed help. And I let myself say it.
We attached the tow line. And slowly, gently, we were carried.
No longer pushing.
No longer striving.
Just held.
We returned to shore, not by force, but by allowing.
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not as an idea, but as a truth that moved through my body, asking to be felt, asking to be lived.
This was never only about the ocean.
It was about me.
About how I have moved through my life. How I have carried what was never mine to hold alone. How I believed strength meant enduring, no matter the cost.
Being towed in became a revelation.
That there is strength in knowing when to stop.
Strength in releasing the burden.
Strength in asking. That I am not meant to carry everything alone.
That I am allowed to be held. This experience followed me home.
It asked me to soften. To open. To allow myself to be seen.
And something in me is changing. A new way of being.
More honest.
More vulnerable.
More open to receiving.
This is how I move forward now.
Not pushing past the pain but listening to it.
Not holding everything, but allowing what is heavy to be shared.
Not proving my strength but embodying it through surrender.
So I ask you, gently:
Where in your life are you still paddling against the current?
Where has your body been asking you to pause?
What are you still carrying that is not yours to hold alone?
What would it feel like to let yourself be supported?
What would it feel like to be towed in?
You are not meant to do this alone. You are allowed to be held, and in that moment, I allowed myself to be carried. It was the moment I realized I never had to do this alone. There is strength in knowing when to reach out and ask for help. To fully understand the depth of being supported. This is the way I am learning to live now.
And if this reflection meets you in your own life,
I invite you to explore the spaces I hold for deeper connection, healing, and remembrance. What areas in your life can you ask to be towed in?
And maybe…Being towed in is not a moment of weakness,
but a remembering. A reminder that we were never meant to navigate these waters alone. That there are currents we cannot control, burdens we were never meant to carry,
and moments when the most powerful thing we can do
is to release our grip
and trust that we will still arrive.
Because we are held
even when we forget.
Supported
even when we resist.
Carried even when we believe we must do it all on our own.
And perhaps the real journey is not just reaching the shore…but allowing ourselves to be seen, to be supported, to be loved along the way.
Much Love and Reverence,
Kellie AmaLiana
