
A series of reflections excavating the unexamined mind.
Shared as essays, spoken word, and community conversation.
Every myth we inherit (personal, cultural, or collective) shapes how we see ourselves and the world.
The Common Myth is my ongoing practice of pausing, questioning, and unearthing the hidden agreements that live beneath the surface of our daily lives. These reflections are both reminders to myself and invitations for you: to look deeper, to think for yourself, and to reclaim the freedom that already belongs to you.
Here, you’ll find essays, audio readings, and connected practices… threads of excavation that move from reflection into embodiment. This is where inquiry meets creation, where we dissolve illusion and rediscover the art of living with presence.
Welcome to The Common Myth
If you’ve found your way here, I imagine you, too, are curious.
Curious enough to look beneath the surface.
Curious enough to ask whether the myths you live by are truly your own… or simply inherited.
I don’t have final answers.
What I do have is a practice: excavating the unexamined mind, holding the questions, and creating from presence.
Thank you for crossing this threshold with me.
— Veronica
Myth comes from Greek mŷthos, meaning speech, tale, or story. It passed through Latin and French before entering English. Its meaning evolved from any kind of tale to specifically sacred or traditional stories, and later, to false or untrue beliefs.
At its deepest linguistic root, myth is tied to the Proto-Indo-European base muH- / mewd-, meaning to think, imagine, mutter, or speak. This connects myth to the very act of giving form to thought through sound.
A related echo appears in Sanskrit with māyā, meaning illusion, magic, or appearance. In yogic philosophy, māyā refers to the veiling power that obscures reality, keeping us entangled in the kleshas (the afflictions or obstacles of the mind).
Both mythos and māyā express the human impulse to create and live within stories… narratives that can reveal deep truths, but also conceal them beneath layers of imagination.
Meditation Is Meeting Yourself
Most of us think meditation is about calm and relaxation. But peace isn’t the starting point. It’s the result of the real work. Meditation is meeting yourself: your wounds, your thoughts, your conditioned mind. This post explores how presence, yoga, and integration turn discomfort into wisdom.
When most of us think about meditation, we imagine peace, calm, or relaxation. And while those may come, they are not the starting point.
Meditation is not about escaping your thoughts. It is about meeting them. The patterns, the stories, the parts of yourself you’ve avoided. This is why meditation can feel uncomfortable at first. It brings you face-to-face with the conditioned mind. The part that lives in past hurts, betrayals, and wounds. The part that is not in the present moment. In the now.
But this is also where the real work begins.
When you sit with yourself, when you stay present instead of running, you discover something deeper. You begin to uncover the wisdom that only comes from meeting the challenge, doing the work, and carrying that wisdom into your life.
This is the essence of yoga and meditation. Not something left on the mat, but a way of living that I call a moving meditation, moment by moment. Breath by breath. Step by step.
I share more about this in the reflection below:
Take a few minutes after watching to sit with these questions. Write, breathe, or simply notice what comes up:
What thought or story shows up most often when I try to be still?
Do I notice the conditioned mind speaking from past wounds, or the connected mind guiding me toward presence?
Where in my daily life can I bring what I’ve uncovered on the mat, in meditation, into how I show up?
What August Taught Me
August reminded me that endings aren’t empty — they’re full of sparks waiting to ignite. What rose in me wasn’t despair but curiosity, courage, and the reminder that wounds can be creative fire. Gratitude, I realized, is not bypass or surface positivity. It’s the evidence that I’ve faced the wound, done the work, and integrated the wisdom.
This month, I was reminded that endings aren’t empty.
They are full of sparks waiting to ignite. When illusions fell away, when old walls crumbled, what rose in me wasn’t despair but curiosity, courage, and the reminder that even wounds can be creative fire.
August Lesson
Gratitude Is Proof of Integration
August showed me that gratitude isn’t surface-level positivity. It isn’t saying “thank you” to bypass pain. Gratitude is the fruit that only grows when you’ve been willing to sit with discomfort… the regret, the resentment, the anger, the doubt.
If you haven’t faced those feelings, you can’t see your past through gratitude. And if you can’t see your past through gratitude, it’s a sign you haven’t fully met your own power.
This month reminded me: wounds don’t arrive to punish us. They arrive to reveal where we’ve forgotten who we are. They stir the heart when we’ve closed it, challenge the mind when we cling to illusions, disrupt our footing when we’ve grown rigid, and awaken our drive when we’ve forgotten our spark.
And when I can be with them fully, when I feel, release, and allow meaning to emerge, then gratitude becomes the evidence that I’ve integrated the lesson.
Carrying It Forward
So, how do I take this wisdom with me into September?
By noticing how I hold my past. When I feel the pull of lack, resentment, or doubt, I will pause and ask:
Am I looking at this cup as empty or full?
Can I meet this wound with gratitude?
If not…. How can I let it shape something meaningful, creative, or of service?
This is the alchemy of the wound. Not erasure, not bypass, but integration. Not just letting go, but letting it move through me until it becomes art, movement, voice, offering, living.
My August Mantra
"My wound is my knowledge. Gratitude is proof that I have met its lesson. What I integrate becomes my power, what I create becomes my embodied expression."
Why Thinking About Someone Isn’t Real Connection (And What “I Forgot” Really Means)
This reflection explores why thinking about someone isn’t enough, what “I forgot” really reveals in relationships, and how sensitivity can be a strength in a world that often avoids depth. If you’ve ever felt the weight of always being the one who remembers, this post will remind you that your awareness isn’t a flaw… it’s power.
Have you ever heard someone say, “I was just thinking about you!”
Maybe it’s when you finally reach out after weeks of silence.
Or when you see them and they casually say, “We should grab coffee soon,” but it never happens unless you initiate. And if you don’t? The connection fades into silence.
Until next time, when you’re met again with, “Oh, I forgot…”
This post is for the one who feels deeply. Who makes room for presence.
And who’s tired of being met with surface-level thought in place of real connection.
Thought Alone Is Not Connection
Thinking about someone doesn’t require effort.
Connection does.
There’s a difference between having a passing thought and choosing to reach out.
You can think of someone all day long and still never truly be with them.
What we often call connection is sometimes just mental noise dressed up as care.
A true connection is felt.
It moves through presence.
It shows up as effort, energy, attention.
When “I Forgot” Is Avoidance
Forgetting isn’t neutral. If something matters to you and you forget it, you usually ask why.
You retrace your steps, reflect on what distracted you, and try to prevent it from happening again.
You care.
But when someone says, “I forgot” — and stops there — it reveals more than a lapse in memory.
It often signals avoidance.
Discomfort.
Or disconnection from the present moment.
The truth is: ego doesn’t like to be in discomfort because it reveals the truth it's hiding.
And forgetting is often how the ego avoids feeling.
When you tell someone you felt hurt that they forgot your birthday, and they dismiss you with, “Oh, I thought it was next week,” they’re not really meeting you.
They’re bypassing the emotional energy in the room.
And if you’re not grounded, you might start to second-guess your own sensitivity.
Forgetting Has Layers
There’s always a reason behind forgetting.
And often, that reason lives in the subconscious. It may come from discomfort, disconnection, or emotional patterns we’ve never questioned.
When someone is important to you, you don’t just forget them.
And if you do, you usually feel it.
Forgetting becomes a pattern when presence is not a practice.
You can train your mind to function on autopilot, but connection isn’t automatic.
It’s chosen.
And so is presence.
The Weight of Being the One Who Feels
If you’re the one who always remembers, the one who reaches out, the one who feels the disconnect first, it can feel heavy.
And when your sensitivity is labeled as “too much,” or you’re told to “get over it,” you may begin to wonder if you’re the problem.
You’re not.
You’re simply present in a world that often isn’t. And being present means you notice what others avoid.
Presence as a Practice
Presence is not perfection. It’s practice. And no one can sit in your seat of awareness for you.
There will be times you forget.
But the difference is you’ll feel the forgetting.
You’ll ask what it means.
You’ll track it back to the moment you lost presence.
And that’s where the healing begins.
Because healing is not about always getting it right. It’s about choosing to return to presence when you realize you left.
Your Sensitivity Is Your Strength
To feel deeply is to hold power. And that power requires grounding.
You don’t need to justify your hurt. You don’t need to fight to be remembered. What you need is the strength to stay present in a world that wants to forget itself.
Let your breath ground you.
Let your movement center you.
Let your awareness bring you back home.
And when someone says, “I forgot…” you’ll know exactly what that means.
Veronica | Align with Veronica
Breath-led practices, emotional presence, and nervous system-based healing.
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