Held by the Water: WATSU® Practitioner

Becoming a WATSU® Practitioner

There are some journeys that change what you know, and then there are the ones that unfold who you are.

Last week, I had the incredible privilege of traveling to the WhiteStone Institute in Washington to complete my final training and officially become a WATSU® Aquatic Bodywork Practitioner. With over 200 hours of training behind me, I can honestly say this experience was about so much more than learning techniques—it was about learning to trust myself, my intuition, and the quiet wisdom that comes from simply being present.

When I first began this journey, I was drawn to WATSU because of the profound peace I witnessed in the water. Over time, that peace became something much deeper. The water became a teacher guiding me to slow down, to listen, to soften, and to trust.

From the moment I arrived at WhiteStone, I was surrounded by people who shared a deep love for healing through water. Together we laughed, learned, challenged one another, celebrated one another, and built friendships that I know will continue long after this training. There is something uniquely vulnerable about spending hours supporting one another in warm water. It creates a level of trust and connection that is difficult to describe until you've experienced it yourself.

One of the greatest gifts of the week was the opportunity to work with clients I never imagined I'd feel confident working with. I had the privilege of safely supporting a client living with cerebral palsy, and it was transformative and eye-opening. I was able to see how the warm water created possibilities for movement, comfort, and freedom that simply aren't available on land. It was incredible. I was reminded that WATSU isn't about fixing people; it's about meeting them exactly where they are and creating a space where the body can experience ease, safety, and deep rest.

If I'm being honest, imposter syndrome showed up more than once throughout the week.

There were moments when I questioned whether I was skilled enough, experienced enough, or ready enough. Moments where I looked around at the incredible practitioners surrounding me and wondered if I truly belonged on this journey with them.

Then something beautiful kept happening. Again and again, my instructors and classmates reflected something back to me that I struggled to see in myself.

They reminded me that my light shines brightly. Not because I know everything. Not because I'm perfect. But because I bring genuine presence, compassion, curiosity, and care into the water.

Sometimes we need other people to remind us of the gifts we've carried all along. I'm choosing to believe them.

As I stepped into my car for the long drive home, I rolled the windows down, turned the music up, and let myself feel everything that the week had stirred up.

The soundtrack became songs by Fia Forsström—"I Am," "The Art of Letting Go," and "When I Found You." Each one seemed to arrive exactly when I needed it. They echoed everything this journey had been teaching me: to embrace who I am, to release the stories that tell me I'm not enough, and to trust that sometimes we aren't finding a destination—we're finding ourselves.

On the way home, I made one last stop at Rowena Crest.

It was early morning, and the first light stretched across the Columbia River below. The wind rushed over the cliffs with such force that it felt like it would take me into the clouds. I stood there overlooking the river, letting the wind carry away everything I no longer needed to hold.

My tears mingled with the wind, each one carrying away a piece of the person I had been, making room for the one I was becoming. There was no sadness or exhaustion, an overflowing sense of gratitude, relief, and the overwhelming realization that something inside me is shifting.

For so many years, I've explored different creative paths. I've searched for work that felt meaningful, questioned where I fit, and wondered what I was truly meant to do. Every chapter has shaped me—my years as an artist and designer, my love of photography, dance, storytelling, and now bodywork. Looking back, I can see that none of those paths were detours. They were all preparing me for this one.

Standing there, watching the river carve its timeless path through the canyon, something inside me became completely still. I knew. Not because I suddenly had every answer, not because the future feels perfectly mapped out. Because for the first time in a very long time, I felt deeply aligned.

There is so much more to learn, more people to meet, more stories to hold, more healing to witness. Every client will teach me something new, and every session will be different. Every time I step into warm water, I'll have another opportunity to create a space where someone can slow down, breathe deeply, and reconnect with themselves.

I know the road ahead will continue to stretch me. There will undoubtedly be moments of uncertainty, opportunities that challenge me, and days when imposter syndrome whispers again. But now I know something I didn't fully know before: I don't have to silence those doubts by becoming perfect. I simply have to keep showing up. Like the water that has taught me so much, I don't have to force the journey. I simply have to keep flowing.

I'm incredibly grateful to my teachers, my classmates, every practice partner who trusted me, every client who allowed me to learn alongside them, and everyone who has supported me from the very beginning.

Thank you for reminding me to trust my light.

Thank you for helping me become the practitioner—and the person—I am today.

Here's to continuing to learn. Here's to continuing to grow. Here's to continuing to flow.

With a heart fuller than I know how to describe, I can't wait to share this beautiful work with all of you.

With gratitude,

Robyn

Starshine Wellness