We at Welcome Native Spirit are honored to share stories from those who have found deeper meaning through our collections, celebrating Indigenous traditions and artistry.
This heartfelt story comes from one of our customers, Talise, who embarked on a powerful journey to reconnect with her Indigenous roots. Through the discovery of our products, she found a path back to their heritage, culture, and ancestors. Here's her inspiring story.
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Growing up, I always felt a gap inside me—a space I couldn’t quite fill. I was Indigenous, that much I knew, but the culture, the language, and the traditions seemed distant, like shadows just out of reach. My parents had moved away from our community when I was young, and in the city, my heritage became something I rarely thought about. School never taught me about my people, and none of my friends understood what it meant to be disconnected from one’s own roots. I didn’t either—until the day I realized how much I had lost.
It started with a family reunion. We went back to our ancestral land for the first time in years. I saw relatives who greeted each other with words I didn’t understand. They laughed, sang, and told stories in a language that was once the voice of my people, now a mystery to me. Watching them, I felt like an outsider in a place where I should have belonged. Something clicked that day—I knew I couldn’t live with that emptiness anymore. I needed to find my way back to my roots, to reclaim what had always been mine.
The journey wasn’t easy. I started small, searching for language classes and resources that could help me learn the words my ancestors spoke. It felt strange at first, but as I learned to greet the day in my native tongue, something stirred inside me—a sense of pride that had been dormant for far too long. I practiced every chance I got, repeating phrases, stumbling over words, but slowly, the language began to flow. It wasn’t just words I was learning; it was a key to understanding my heritage.
Next, I started attending community gatherings, stepping into spaces where our traditions lived on. I listened to elders tell stories of our people—of our history, our struggles, and our resilience. I learned about ceremonies that had been passed down through generations, rituals that connected us to the earth, the seasons, and each other. I felt awkward at first, unsure of my place, but over time, I realized that I didn’t have to earn my belonging. It had always been there.
It started with a family reunion. We went back to our ancestral land for the first time in years. I saw relatives who greeted each other with words I didn’t understand. They laughed, sang, and told stories in a language that was once the voice of my people, now a mystery to me. Watching them, I felt like an outsider in a place where I should have belonged. Something clicked that day—I knew I couldn’t live with that emptiness anymore. I needed to find my way back to my roots, to reclaim what had always been mine.
The journey wasn’t easy. I started small, searching for language classes and resources that could help me learn the words my ancestors spoke. It felt strange at first, but as I learned to greet the day in my native tongue, something stirred inside me—a sense of pride that had been dormant for far too long. I practiced every chance I got, repeating phrases, stumbling over words, but slowly, the language began to flow. It wasn’t just words I was learning; it was a key to understanding my heritage.
Next, I started attending community gatherings, stepping into spaces where our traditions lived on. I listened to elders tell stories of our people—of our history, our struggles, and our resilience. I learned about ceremonies that had been passed down through generations, rituals that connected us to the earth, the seasons, and each other. I felt awkward at first, unsure of my place, but over time, I realized that I didn’t have to earn my belonging. It had always been there.
As I immersed myself in these traditions, the gap inside me began to close. I learned how to make traditional crafts, to drum and sing the songs of my ancestors. Each step, each new experience, brought me closer to the spirit of my people. I could feel their presence in everything—the language I spoke, the stories I heard, the ceremonies I took part in. They were with me, guiding me, helping me reclaim the parts of myself that had been lost.
It wasn’t just about learning; it was about connection. I came to understand that my journey wasn’t just a personal one—it was about reconnecting with my community and contributing to the survival of our culture. I found myself volunteering, helping younger kids learn the language, sharing the stories I had heard from the elders. I realized that in reclaiming my own identity, I was also helping to preserve it for future generations.
Now, when I walk through the world, I carry my culture with me. The language flows from my lips, the traditions live in my actions, and the stories of my ancestors guide my path. I’m not just Indigenous in name—I’m Indigenous in spirit, in practice, and in pride. The emptiness that once defined me is gone, replaced by a sense of belonging, not just to my family, but to a history that stretches back centuries.
I embarked on this journey to reclaim my culture, but in the process, I found something even more valuable: I found myself.
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6 Comments
I spent my summers in Ramah, New Mexico. My family hired the Zuni people to build our home and one of the wives came and made bread. Oh my it was so delicious. She taught us to make clay cups and bowls, all sorts of things. We painted with paints that we made from different materials. We bought our horses from them also. This was a time in my life I really miss. I have a deep heart love for all of the indigenous peoples. I enjoy all your stories and how you all are such a part of the earth and sky. Please continue to be your selves and relating your lives. This comes from a white person who always wanted to be an Indian. God Bless you all. Amen