I was born intersex, but the world wasn’t ready for me. A medical decision made at birth forced me into an identity that never fit. My childhood was a battle—bullied, misunderstood, and told I was "wrong." My parents didn’t know how to love me as I was. My mother, a narcissist. My father, an addict. By the time I reached puberty, I realized I was living a lie.
Growing up forced to live in the wrong gender, was a trauma I carried every day. School was relentless. Home was no refuge. My first suicide attempt came when my parents tried to send me to conversion therapy. That’s when I completely detached—from my emotions, from my soul, from life itself. Disassociation became my survival. But trauma doesn’t just disappear; it burrows deep, manifesting as illness, depression, and self-destruction.
When the truth of my intersexuality was revealed to me, and when i confronted my parents, I was banished. Alone in New York City, I began life in the correct gender, and finally began living as me. But years of rejection had wired my nervous system for chaos—I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I threw myself into reckless situations, chasing numbness. I needed help. I needed to live.
Buddhism found me when I had nowhere left to turn. The teachings of compassion, discipline, and self-inquiry gave me structure. I took vows, immersed myself in rigorous practice, and dedicated myself to deep spiritual work. In solitude and devotion, I learned forgiveness. I forgave my parents. I forgave myself.
Then came the night that changed everything. A friend invited me to a “ceremony.” I had no idea what I was about to ingest—only that it was called the “Queen Mother of All Teacher Plants.”
IT WAS IBOGA!!!
I had unknowingly built an addiction to opioids, masking my pain under the guise of “treating neck pain.” That night, Iboga ripped my body apart. The withdrawals, the visions, the unrelenting purge—it was eight hours of agony. The next night, she showed me the truth:
For the first time, I felt whole.
Iboga led me to Gabon, West Africa, where I was initiated into the Bwiti tradition. It was raw, brutal, and stripped me of all worldly comforts. In the depths of ceremony, I relived the moment my soul left my body—the night I overdosed on my mother’s sleeping pills as a child. The night I should have died.
I found my soul that night.
Returning from Gabon, I knew my purpose: to guide others through their healing. My teacher told me, "Dayle, you will take Bwiti in a whole new direction." Today, I work with sacred plant medicines—Iboga, Kambo, Bufo—to help others face their shadows, trauma, and truth. I have witnessed profound transformations, and my heart is full.
I am now creating a platform to support transgender individuals through their transitions, offering guidance, healing, and community. My life is no longer about survival—it is about service.
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