Lessons from an Ocelot

Last summer, I found myself standing at a threshold I couldn’t quite name. On the surface, I was still doing what I had been doing for years—working in tech as a relationship manager, juggling strategy decks and client meetings, pushing through. But inside, something was shifting. Quietly at first. Then with urgency.

I felt like I was living out of alignment, like a part of me was trying to tap on the glass from the inside, saying, This isn’t it anymore. You know it. But I was afraid to name it. I was afraid to walk away. I knew something had to change, but I didn’t trust myself enough to make that call alone.

So I turned to someone I deeply trust—my teacher, Guthrie Sayen. He had been guiding me through my Coaching with Spirit and IFS trainings, and I’d witnessed the kind of healing he facilitated with others: tender, reverent, transformative. I knew my system would feel safe with him. And that’s exactly what happened.

A Wild Guide Emerges

In our first session together, Guthrie asked me a question that cut through the noise: What does your soul want now?

What emerged was not a tidy answer—but an image, a presence. An ocelot.

Not a metaphor. Not a part in the traditional IFS sense. This wasn’t a burdened protector or a scared exile. The ocelot felt like a guide—sovereign, fierce, and fully itself. It appeared not just in my imagination, but in the felt reality of the session, as if it had always been there, just waiting for me to remember.

I felt awe, pride, reverence. The ocelot wasn’t of me, but it was undeniably with me. It carried a message I didn’t even know I needed:

“Some things aren’t meant to be tamed. You’re meant to be in an environment that honors your wildness, your balance, your nature. You’re out of alignment, and you know it.”

Those words landed like lightning.

Up until that point, I’d been brushing aside the discomfort I felt in my job—telling myself I was just being perfectionistic, or overly sensitive. But the ocelot wasn’t critiquing me. It was naming the truth: I was living out of integrity, and my body knew it.

First, I followed the ocelot’s invitation into the wild. I signed up for a women’s retreat in Asheville, North Carolina—a space where I could listen without all the noise. Where I could remember what balance felt like in my body. That week in the mountains changed everything. It was like letting my nervous system exhale for the first time in years.

Thirteen days after that session, circumstances emerged, and my corporate job ended.

The ocelot didn’t give me a five-step plan. It didn’t promise certainty or security. But it reminded me that I am part of nature—and nature doesn’t force its rhythms. Nature trusts the unfolding.

The Ocelot Returns

Several months later, I needed help again. I had launched my coaching practice, and I was terrified. What if I couldn’t do it? What if this wasn’t my path? So I reached out to Guthrie, and the ocelot returned.

This time, it didn’t come alone.

As I dropped into the session, I touched into a sense of fragility—like cracked glass. I was in the midst of becoming someone new, and parts of me were scared. Tired. Unsure. I said aloud, “I really need help.” And in that moment, something in me softened enough to let the help come.

The ocelot appeared again. And then… cubs.

Small, blind, trembling ocelot cubs. They weren’t being held or protected. They were just… there. Together. Vulnerable.

At first, I wanted the ocelot to go to them. To mother them. But it didn’t move.

Instead, it offered a quiet knowing:

“They are divine beings. They will grow. Even divine beings start out scared.”

There was so much power in that restraint. The ocelot wasn’t abandoning them. It was trusting them. Trusting the process. Trusting the divine timing of becoming.

That moment cracked something open in me.

In that second session, I saw clearly that the discomfort I had been feeling—about not being “far enough along,” not yet being the coach or healer I aspired to be—was part of the journey. It wasn’t a sign that I was failing. It was a sign that I was growing.

Like the cubs, I was in a season of development. And no amount of strategizing could accelerate that. The ocelot taught me something no productivity hack ever had: that real growth requires space. It requires safety. And it requires time.

In a world that rushes everything—eggs, crops, emotions, chickens—we forget that the natural pace of evolution is slow. And wise.

Nature doesn’t rush, yet everything gets done. — Lao Tzu

What changed after that session wasn’t just how I viewed my path—it was how I treated myself on the path. With less urgency. More compassion. More reverence for the unfolding.

Living the Ocelot’s Wisdom

Today, I still carry the ocelot with me.

Not as a mascot or symbol, but as a presence—a kind of energetic integrity check. When I start overcommitting, contorting, or choosing out of fear, I feel the ocelot’s gaze.

Its message is simple:

Be where the wild things thrive.
Seek environments that honor your rhythm.
Don’t trade your truth for belonging.

So now I craft my days with more intention. I listen to my body. I protect my energy. I say no more often. I make choices from intuition, not obligation. And when things feel hard, I remember the cubs—and that even divine beings start out scared.

If you’re reading this and you’re at a similar precipice—knowing something needs to change but afraid to make the leap—I want you to know: it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to not have it all figured out.

Trust that your soul is already whispering the next step. Maybe it’s time to listen.

Maybe it’s time to let something wild guide you home.