The Echo of a Life Remembered

Flee
Aug 10
3 min read

Some stories do not begin.

They are already woven into the fabric of the world before we take our first breath, carrying fragments of a thousand lives, of a thousand silences.

I was born into a lineage with no clear homeland. A white Australian woman of convict descent, with no culture to claim, no inherited rituals or ancient songs passed down through generations. My culture was survival. My inheritance was silence. I learned early that belonging was conditional, measured not by who you are but by what you can do for others.

I became the helper, the one who noticed, the one who made life easier for those around me. This was my proof of worth. This was how I kept my place in a world that rarely saw me and even more rarely celebrated me. No birthdays, no graduations, no moments where my existence was honoured simply for being. Instead, anything I was given was turned against me, stolen, discarded, or justified as useful rather than meaningful.

It shapes you, this constant undercurrent of disposability. It makes you quieter, sharper, more observant. It teaches you to hide in plain sight, to adapt to whatever keeps you safe. And in that adaptation, you learn to carry a thousand masks.

I have lived with multiple families, been called white gutter trash by the boy I loved, seen my story dismissed because I was not born into a culture deemed worthy of reverence. I have been the protector of family secrets, the one who never stands out for fear of what attention might bring. I have known deep isolation, the kind where even your attempts at connection are twisted into selfishness. And yet, through all of it, I have kept one truth close, I was born to bring people home to themselves.

The Archive of Legends

Somewhere along the way, I realised this was never just my story. This is the human story.

We are all born into systems that tell us who we should be — through culture, politics, race, gender, economy — and then divide us based on the labels they have given us.

If you are not separated from your identity, you are separated from your gender.

If not gender, then race.

If not race, then class.

The separations are endless, and yet the longing is always the same — to belong, to be valued, to be understood.

I believe we are meant to create a new culture.

One built not on the dominance of one heritage over another, but on the weaving together of the best parts of all cultures into something we all belong to. A living archive of legends, each voice adding to the collective story of humanness.

The Birth of SomaEcho

SomaEcho is not just a name. It is a vessel for remembrance.

It carries the heartbeat of Awaecnian, my first creation... but has grown into something more fluid, more alive. It is a living gallery of human stories, a space where creativity becomes connection, and connection becomes the medicine for the fractures we carry.

Here, the divine feminine and masculine meet. Not as rigid roles, but as the energies of strength and softness that exist within us all.

Here, we remember that light without darkness has no value, and that our scars are not proof of failure but of our becoming.

What I Have Learned

Chapter Twelve of "Memories of Losing Me" by Felicia Lee, titled "Unspoken Shifts," explores themes of self-worth and validation, beautifully symbolized by a red rose inside a heart.

Through my own journey of survival, loss, and awakening, I have learned that humanity’s greatest work is not to escape the human experience, but to be here fully. To live grounded in the present moment while holding the knowing of our infinite origin.

We do not need to be perfect to be worthy of love.

We do not need a centuries-old lineage to have a story worth telling.

We only need to be willing to stand in our truth, to meet each other in the middle of the contrast, and to create something that has never existed before — a culture where everyone belongs.