The Ocean Raised Me...

Born among whales, raised by the wind, embraced by two worlds: the desert and the forest.

We all come from the sea, and sooner or later, we all return to it, time and time again...

I was born where the desert meets the sea — in Laguna Ojo de Liebre, Baja California Sur. A natural sanctuary surrounded by gray whales, sea turtles, migratory birds, coyotes, dolphins, and ancient hills that were once underwater. There, among obsidian arrowheads and fossilized shark teeth — even megalodon — my story began.

But I didn’t grow up in just one place. My childhood was a dance between that salty lagoon and the misty forests of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Between desert shrubs and salt flats, and moss-covered trunks and pine trees. From early on, I learned that home doesn’t have to be a fixed place — it can be anywhere the Earth welcomes you.

I was an only child. And even though I was always outgoing, I spent a lot of time alone. While my mom — my rock, my teacher, my best friend — worked to support our family of two, I’d wander the coastline, playing in the verdillo and salicornia bushes, talking to animals, imagining I was a princess ruling a kingdom made of nature. In Canada, I played Pocahontas in the woods, sitting on fallen logs and talking to Grandmother Willow. I invented languages to speak with the wind. I danced to the rhythm of shorebirds. And yes — I was always barefoot. Still am.

My first love.

My mom is a strong, resilient, magical woman. I saw her build her life from scratch. We lived in a tent by the sea. I didn’t feel poor, because I had nothing to compare it to. That was our reality. In Canada, my stepdad built us a house in the middle of 100 hectares of forest. Bears, deer, mountain lions would pass by our porch. I never grew up fearing wildlife — only respecting it deeply. They were the true owners of that land. We were guests.

Once, when I was little, I told my mom I remembered watching her from the sky, feeling her loneliness — and choosing her to be my mother. Doctors had told her she was infertile. But somehow, I arrived. Her greatest gift, as she says. I don’t know if that memory is real, or if my soul just wanted it to be. But it lives in me.

Thanks to her, I learned to be independent. To live my truth without apology. To embrace my identity, even if it looked different than everyone else’s. To find wonder in every single moment this Earth offers us.

We didn’t have a TV. I didn’t own fancy toys. But I had whales.

Who is watching who?

One moment I’ll never forget — I was eight years old when I looked into a whale’s eye for the first time with full awareness. It didn’t just see me — it saw through me. Into me. And I knew something sacred had just happened. That feeling never left. I still feel it every whale season.

The ocean has always been my greatest teacher. My therapist. My safe place. Every visit feels like falling in love all over again. It takes my breath away, makes my heart race, brings butterflies to my stomach — and always, always, makes me smile, even when I’m sad.

There’s something unspoken between us — the sea and I. A strange, ancient language. The more I’ve trusted my instincts, the clearer that communication has become. The sea teaches me humility, perseverance, unconditional love, forgiveness, strength, and how to ask for help without shame. When people ask what superpower I’d like to have, my answer is always the same: to breathe underwater. I’ve always felt more at home in the ocean than on land.

Being a mermaid isn’t just about loving the sea. It’s about having a soft but powerful heart. It’s about caring for everything around me — people, animals, plants. It’s about seeing the world as a living being, one that needs my care as much as I need hers.

The Baja peninsula isn’t just a setting in my life — it is my life. It’s where I fell in love. Where I had my heart broken. Where my children were born. Where my soul found a place to belong. Where I can be unapologetically myself. Every corner of this land reminds me that magic is real.

Magical moments

For a long time, I hesitated to share all this — maybe out of fear or shame, or because of the harsh judgments we often face. But I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. And if someone reading this falls in love — even just a little — with the sea, the forest, or the desert, and chooses to care for them in some small way… then this blog will have fulfilled its purpose.

I hope these words feel like a safe place. A gentle corner of the internet where your complicated, beautiful feelings are welcome.

My story, like my soul, is made of salt, sun, and mermaids.

Welcome.

With love and salty skin,

Sirena 🐚