How Walking the Camino Changed My Spiritual Path

I was born Muslim in Saudi Arabia, where my father is from and raised Catholic in Canada, where my mother is from.

I was baptized. I received Communion. I went to confession. But by the time Confirmation approached, I quietly stepped away. I didn’t feel old enough — or informed enough — to make a lifelong declaration about something I was still trying to understand.

In my early twenties, I began describing myself as spiritual.

I believed in something.
I felt guided by something.
But I couldn’t yet name it.

What I did know was this:
I had always been intuitive and sensitive to energy.
I dreamed things before they happened.
I felt shifts in rooms before anyone spoke.

And as I began traveling alone — Morocco, the Philippines, Sri Lanka — something inside me softened.

I saw how little people needed to feel full.

I saw joy without excess.

I slowed down.

And somewhere in that slowing, I began paying attention to the red threads of fate — the invisible pulls that tug you toward places, people, and experiences long before you understand why.

Saying Yes Before You’re Ready

In my early twenties, I started saying yes to opportunities before I had the means.

Before I had the full plan.
Before I knew the “how.”

I trusted something larger than logistics.

I began manifesting quietly — not in the loud, vision-board sense — but in the embodied sense. I stepped toward the life I wanted before it fully arrived.

And then, at twenty-five, I walked the Camino.

The Camino Is Made of Threads

When I arrived on the Camino Francés, I realized something profound:

Everyone there had been pulled by a thread.

Some were grieving.
Some were searching.
Some were celebrating.
Some didn’t even know why they had come.

But every single person had followed something invisible.

Being surrounded by that many individuals who had trusted their intuition is powerful.

The Camino feels magical — not because of the landscape alone, but because of the people.

Each pilgrim carries a story.

And when thousands of stories converge on one ancient path, the energy becomes undeniable.

You can feel it.

There is a term we use: Camino angels.

Sometimes you need one — and they appear.

Sometimes you are one — and you don’t even realize it.

When You Are Held

I remember standing in a train station, crying as I said goodbye to a fellow pilgrim and my future partner.

I didn’t know what to do next.
Stay?
Leave town?
Walk aimlessly?

I felt unanchored.

And then, out of nowhere, I heard my name.

In a sea of strangers, a friendly face emerged.

For them, it was simple — running into someone they knew.

For me, it was everything.

Guidance arrived exactly when I needed it.

They were my angel that day.

It may have meant nothing extraordinary to them.

But it changed the trajectory of my next steps.

When You Become the Angel

On my second Camino, I carried an ankle brace I had acquired during my first walk.

It felt unnecessary this time. Extra weight.

My ankle was fine.

Somewhere along the path, I stopped to say hello to woman that I had met previously.

She was struggling.

I assumed she needed encouragement. I walked beside her and offered conversation, lightness.

Then she mentioned her ankle.

She was trying to make it to the next big city to find a pharmacy - for what you ask - an ankle brace.

Of course I gave her my brace.

To me, it was a small gesture. A forgotten item in my backpack.

To her, it made all the difference.

The Camino is full of stories like this.

The more you hear, the more unbelievable they sound.

But when you are walking it, they feel completely natural.

Because when you follow your thread, you become part of someone else’s.

What the Camino Taught Me About Spirituality

Before the Camino, spirituality felt abstract.

After the Camino, it felt lived.

For me now, a spiritual path is not about belonging to one doctrine.

It is about participation.

It is about putting in the work.

Trusting yourself — even when the outcome is unclear.
Taking the leap — before the landing appears.
Moving through hard emotions instead of around them.
Living in natural cycles.

Sometimes slow is necessary.

Sometimes action and speed are appropriate.

Spirituality is discernment.

It is rhythm.

It is devotion to growth.

We Are All Connected

Walking the Camino taught me something that no book ever could:

We are connected.

Not metaphorically.

Energetically.

You feel it when strangers open up to you after five kilometers of shared silence.

You feel it when someone appears at exactly the right moment.

You feel it when your small act becomes someone else’s turning point.

Later in my life, this understanding would deepen through practices like Reiki — but the Camino planted the seed.

It showed me that energy pools.

That intention matters.

That presence changes things.

Uncovering the “Why”

We are all being pulled by invisible threads.

The question is not whether they exist.

The question is whether we choose to see them.

And even more — whether we choose to uncover why we were brought somewhere.

Why this place?
Why this person?
Why this timing?

I would rather not miss what the universe has in store for me.

I’m sure its plans for me are far too precious — and far too exciting — to ignore the pull.

The Camino did not give me a new religion.

It gave me a new lens.

A belief that meaning is layered.

That intuition is trustworthy.

That connection is real.

That we are placed in each other’s lives for reasons we may only understand years later.

And that if you follow the thread — even when it makes no sense — you will end up exactly where you are meant to stand.

Not because it was predetermined.

But because you chose to listened.