For a long time, I made and sold raw cacao snacks. I did this at farmers markets, trade shows, and all kinds of festivals. My business mascot—and in a funny way, the manager—was a stuffed Kermit the Frog.
He wasn’t a childhood toy. He was gifted to me in my adult life by a dear friend. Another friend once said, “You’re like a Swedish female version of Kermit.” At the time, I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted. That was before I really understood—let alone embraced—the Kermit aspect of myself.
Kermit wore a “Manager” badge. He became part of the team. It became a thing.
Eventually, I concluded my cacao business and stopped doing events. I moved out of my home and placed most of my belongings in storage—including Kermit, who ended up in a box, surrounded by random things.
Some years went by. One day, someone casually asked, “Hey, how’s Kermit doing these days?”
And I replied, somewhat offhandedly, “Oh… he’s not stoked. He’s just hanging out in a box in a storage unit all by himself.”
And in that moment, I could hear him, in his classic Kermit the Muppet voice (for those who know, you know), muffled by old scarves and surrounded by forgotten bits of life:
“Urm, excuse me? Hello? Why am I here in this box? I’m important. I’m a big deal. How did this actually happen?”
Not long after that, I emptied the storage unit. I brought the box home and pulled Kermit out. It felt like a sweet reunion. A little thing, but also kind of a big moment.
On Sunday mornings, I go to Dance Temple—which really deserves its own post. At Dance Temple, there’s always an altar—created with intention and alive with meaning.
The other Saturday night, I looked over at Kermit, sitting on the windowsill, watching me bustle around. And I said out loud, with genuine joy:
“Kermit! Tomorrow you’re coming to Dance Temple. Gonna be your best day ever!”
So he came.
He sat on top of the altar like a king, or like the manager he once was. And I danced with him—on the altar, in the room, fully present.
And something clicked.
The Kermit Part
As I moved and danced with him, it all became so clear: Kermit is a part of me.
To me, Kermit is the classic nerd. Lovable and quirky. Funny and social—and also worried and neurotic. He puffs and groans about life’s inconveniences. “It ain’t easy being green.”
He’s the aspect of me that’s a little a little too much—or not enough.
The weird puzzle piece that doesn’t fit the frame.
The inner nerd, the overthinker, the awkward one.
The version of me that worries about being too weird, too normal, too different, too loud, too quiet… just too…
And yes—we’ve come a long way, she and I.
I can honestly say now: I love her.
I thank her.
She’s the key to so many of my gifts.
And for a long time—I kept her in a box.
That dance with Kermit on a Sunday morning was a moment of integration. A homecoming. A dance move on the path of wholeness.
Beyond Kermit
Of course, this is not just about Kermit.
It’s about all of us—and the aspects of ourselves we tuck away into boxes, real or metaphorical.
The ones we don’t acknowledge.
The ones we don’t quite feel comfortable with.
The ones we hide, suppress, or forget.
The versions of us we haven’t yet welcomed back into the dance of life.
When we do that, something’s missing.
What’s missing is our wholeness.
The integrated Self.
The full, real, weird, lovable, messy being we came here to be.
So I’m inviting myself—and maybe you, too—to do more of this.
To bring our Kermits out of the box and into the light.
To let them dance.
To let them speak.
To give them space on the altar of our lives.
You don’t need to go to Dance Temple.
You don’t need a dance floor.
You don’t need to feel great or be in the right mood or wear your best outfit.
You can do this in your living room, in your car, in the forest, in your journal, in silence, or out loud.
Bring them out of the box.
Let them breathe.
Let them be danced.
“Wholeness is not achieved by cutting off a portion of one’s being, but by integration of the contraries.”
— Carl Jung —
“Wholeness is not achieved by cutting off a portion of one’s being, but by integration of the contraries.”
— Carl Jung —
