When the Medicine Goes Deeper Than You’d Ever Choose

On surrender, receiving, and a hospital bed far from home

Welcome, new readers! I’m Sarah, the voice behind Goddess in Training—a space where intuition, mysticism, and lived experience meet. Here, I share personal stories, spiritual insights, and raw reflections from the edges of transformation. Whether I’m writing from a jungle tent or a hospital bed, my intention is always the same: to remind you that your body is wise, your healing is sacred, and your story is a portal. I’m so glad you’re here.

Last week, I wrote about how the jungle doesn’t give you what you want—it gives you what you need. At the time, I believed the lesson had landed. I thought I had unraveled just enough. I thought I had received the message.

But apparently, the medicine had only just begun.

What I believed was a bad insect bite—hot, inflamed, and painful to walk on—turned out to be something far more serious: a bacterial infection that hasn’t been responding to antibiotics.

Now I’m writing this from a hospital bed in San José. I've been here for almost a day and will be here for at least three more. I’m hooked up to IVs and being monitored around the clock. Far from the jungle, far from the creek, far from the illusion of control.

Surrender is Not a Performance

When I first started my spiritual path, I thought of surrender as a practice I could master. Something I could do well.

But now, here in a sterile hospital with a swollen leg and no real answers, surrender isn’t a performance. It’s not lighting a candle and drawing a tarot card. It’s not picking the perfect essential oil or repeating an affirmation. It’s lying still and letting go—completely. It’s trusting strangers to treat your body with care. It’s allowing the timeline to be unknown. It’s no longer being the one who holds space. It’s being the one who is held.

The Old Identity Has to Go

I’ve long held a badge of honor around being resilient. Strong. Low-maintenance.
But what happens when your body demands maintenance?
What happens when strength is no longer an option?

This initiation has stripped me of my usual coping mechanisms. I can’t ground myself in nature. I can’t “power through.” I can’t fix this with knowledge, fasting, herbs, or even the softening I was so proud to begin embodying.

The only thing left to do is receive. Fully. Unequivocally. Without guilt.

And that’s the real test, isn’t it? Not whether I can give love and care and healing. But whether I can receive it—without shame, without deflection, without needing to be “worthy.”

Healing Across Distance

As we made the six-hour drive from the jungle to the hospital, I knew I couldn’t do this alone. I called my family. I sent a message to my women’s circle back home, asking for remote healing. They all responded immediately—no hesitation, no questions. Just love.

And something shifted. My worry began to dissolve. I could look out the window and really see. The ocean, the trees, the sky softening into sunset.
I love this life. My life.
Not in a fleeting, Instagram-caption way. But in a bone-deep, soul-rooted way.

Even in this discomfort. Even in this body that is aching.
I am grateful.

For the friends who send light. For the family who checks in. For the impact I know I’m making, even from this hospital bed.

Love at the Bedside

And then there is mi amor, who has not left my side.

He is a man of the earth—strong, stoic, someone who rarely sees doctors and who’s never been comfortable with hospitals. But here he is, sitting beside me, hiding his own discomfort so I don’t have to carry it. Holding vigil. Quietly watching over me while I sleep, flinch, cry, and come undone.

I’ve never been loved like this before. And I’m still learning how to let it in.

This Is Not Punishment—It’s Proof

There have been moments in this process when I’ve wondered: Did I do something wrong? Did I miss the sign? Did I fail to listen to my body again?

But here’s the truth that came in when everything else was quiet: This isn’t punishment. This is proof.
Proof that I’m in a new level of healing.
Proof that my prayers to deepen in love, trust, and surrender are being answered—even if the delivery method is brutal.

The universe isn’t cruel.
But it is uncompromising.

And the truth is, I asked for this.
I asked to know myself more deeply.
I asked to release the parts of me that only feel valuable when I’m producing, fixing, or holding it all together.
I asked to remember what it means to be sacred, even in stillness.

This experience is that initiation.

May Ixchel Walk With Me Still

The goddess Ixchel, who presided over the last essay, doesn’t just tend the waters of fertility and moonlight. She also rules over medicine. Over the sickness and the cure. Over the unraveling and the weaving.

I call on her again now—not as a poetic flourish, but as a prayer.

Let this be enough.
Let this be the moment I fully lay down the pattern of needing to break in order to be loved.
Let this be the point where I truly believe that I am held, even when I can’t hold anyone else.
Let this healing be cellular, ancestral, and eternal.

P.S. This aventura has only deepened my love for Costa Rica. The doctors have assured me this infection wasn’t caused by being in the jungle—it could’ve happened anywhere. The care I’ve received, from remote Drake Bay (¡muchísimas gracias, Dra. Marita!) to here in San José, has been exceptional. The hospital I’m in is truly the most comfortable and kind I’ve ever experienced. Pura vida, siempre. 💛

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