I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you.

I love you.
I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
Thank you. 

These are the four simple yet profound phrases that make up the Hawaiian practice of Hoʻoponoʻono—a prayer of reconciliation, healing, and taking responsibility with others, and sometimes, with ourselves.

A few weeks ago at Burning Man—an absolutely incredible experience, but not without its challengessss—I had a moment that cracked me open. 

One afternoon, when I was feeling raw and overwhelmed, I went to take a movement workshop (always my medicine when I’m struggling). But I arrived a few minutes late and they’d already closed the doors. Naturally, that sent me spiraling further, frustrated that I’d lost my chance to reset.

Some other conscious workshop was about to start, but this one required a partner. A man with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sparkly blue booty shorts approached me and asked if I wanted to join him for the workshop.

Everything in me screamed no. I wanted to move, not sit with a stranger, at a couples workshop, who ended every sentence with a “meow”. But some deeper part of me—the part beginning to trust in “playa magic”—agreed to join.

We sat on the floor. I was crawling out of my skin. We got the prompt, and because we weren't in a relationship, we were instructed to choose someone from our past to project onto our partner. Sparkle Meow went first:

I love you.
I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
Thank you.

He said it again. And again. And again. Straight into my eyes.

At first my mind raced—who is he talking to? what story is this about? But the more he repeated it, the more I let myself start to receive.

When his turn ended, I asked: Who were you speaking to?  

He looked at me and said: You.

That cracked me wide open. It was exactly the message I needed to hear in that moment—the balm for the anxiety I’d been carrying.

I walked out of that workshop and immediately went to the person I realized I needed to say it to. And I did. And just like that, the thing between us softened. Healed. Reconciled.

Weeks later, back home, another wave of challenge hit. This time it was an inner conflict, like two wolves fighting inside me and pulling in opposite directions.

Instead of trying to figure it out, I guided myself to move my body, to breathe. And then the words appeared in my mind:

I love you.
I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
Thank you.

I repeated them again and again. And in that moment, with tears in my eyes, the wolves stopped fighting.

Sometimes we need to take responsibility in our relationships with others. And sometimes, it’s our relationship with ourselves that needs healing, grace, and reconciliation.

So I’ll leave you with this question: 

Is there anyone in your life—including you—who needs to hear these words today?

I love you.
I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
Thank you.