By Kayla Burns, TTA, National Native Children’s Trauma Center
I remember being a little girl, walking with my grandma and listening intently to her teachings of the land. As we traveled the path to the sarvis berry trees, she pointed out plants along the way. I remember sage growing just feet from her front yard, the smell of peppermint, and the sound of water flowing while the wind gently blew my hair to the side.
When we arrived at the tree, she explained that it was berry-picking season and that she would make a pot of berry soup for the ceremony that week. I picked berries with her and shared them with my cousins as we learned, played, teased one another, and simply enjoyed life.
Later that week, I attended the ceremony. I didn’t yet understand the language or the reasons behind the actions, but I knew it was something sacred, something that made me feel peaceful. During the ceremony, we took the berry soup my grandma had made, picked one single berry, prayed, and placed it into the ground. Even as a child, I remember praying for my family, for joy, for stability, and for good health…all the same things I still pray for today.
As I got older, I began to understand just how powerful those moments were. I came to realize how much strength they gave me as I faced adversity growing up. I was incredibly fortunate to have a grandmother like mine, someone who gave me connection to the land, to ceremony, to identity, and to a family that supported each other with love and care.
Looking back, I now see I was learning our cultural values through everyday teachings. Those values protected me. They helped me walk a good path into adulthood, even with bumps along the way.
As I entered the mental health field, I noticed something familiar: the teachings I was learning about wellness, trauma, and resilience echoed what I already knew from my grandmother, our elders, and our culture. While I studied trauma, I recognized its deep and ongoing presence in our communities. How not one family was untouched by it. You could see the impact all around us.
But if you looked closely, you could also see the medicine. What the Western world calls "protective factors." I saw the beauty of where I come from: families laughing and cooking together, community celebrations filled with love and pride, our language being brought back into classrooms and conversations, and those familiar rez accents that feel like home.
We live beside mountains that draw millions every year—yet they belong to us. They call our spirits home and remind us of our place in this time and space, as beautiful souls born of hardship and resilience. We have elders who offer us reprieve and guidance through ceremony, helping us re-energize through prayer, song, smudge, language, plants, and the elements.
When a person can experience these beautiful gifts and feel rooted in both their individual identity and their collective belonging, that is what it means to be whole. To live in balance is to live in alignment with our ancestral values. It is to walk a path that gives our spirits energy, joy, love, and belonging.
So, what does that look like today?
In the Western world, it might be called "wellness" or "self-care." It means tending to all areas of your health so that you can live a full, meaningful life. It's about making daily choices that pour into your energy cup.
But wellness and self-care are not new in our communities. Long before “self-care” became a buzzword, our ancestors practiced it through ceremony, kinship, movement, stillness, and the sacred act of being in right relation with ourselves, with each other, with the land, and with the spirit world.
When we talk about self-care, we could be adding something new to our lives, but we are remembering what was already given to us. Sweatlodge, smudge, song, dance, language, and story are wellness tools. So are laughter, rest, movement, and being in nature. These aren’t separate from our responsibilities, they are our responsibilities.
To walk in balance today, especially in a world of screens and systems, is to make intentional choices aligned with our cultural values. When we choose to take moments to breathe and realize who we are, what we are grateful for, offer lateral love, move our bodies with gratitude, nourish ourselves with food or prayer, we are walking a path that honors who we are.
This is how we become good ancestors—not only by what we do for others, but by how we care for ourselves. When we care for ourselves with love and intention, we honor the prayers of those who came before us and we become a living teaching for those who come after.
As you continue doing the hard and necessary work of helping to heal our communities, remember you are here for a reason. When things feel out of balance, return to your whole self. Give your spirit what it needs to thrive. Do intentional searching for what this means for you but remember the tools are within you as well.
You are the beautiful result of your ancestors’ strength. Their resilience lives in your DNA. Even when life gets tough, continue to walk with self-care and wellness as part of your sacred responsibility—to yourself, your community, and your ancestors.